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Being the heir of one of the Merchant Council families included, apparently, lots of social events. Invites to formal dinners, tea parties, even a handful of balls.
The Kerch were ever so sober, but there was nothing they liked more than basking in their own power. And what better way to blow one’s horn than hosting parties?
It was no secret: the Kerch people were pious — and if they weren’t, they pretended to be. Money was a mere commodity, and young girls learned at an early age how to mend dresses or curtains and exude modesty. But the life of the clean part of the city included plenty of dissimulation, if you wanted to get technical. Social gatherings were another way to observe and bargain with people, no more no less part of an honest man’s work.
It was one thing to consider whether Wylan wanted to attend them, but once he had become a member of the Council, he had to consider what was useful, even if it came with the sting of discomfort. They were, on his part, quite boring and frivolous. But they were necessary: so he made do.
Sometimes he was the one hosting dinner parties, having to sit through boring hours of formalities and polite smiles. He didn’t dislike the whole Merchant Council: he found Radmakker quite delightful, and Dryden was spectacularly unobtrusive. But some members tended to ask rather uncomfortable questions about his mother. Some of them, on the other hand, were set on telling Wylan that they had always felt a disdain towards his father, and that the news about the mistreatment of his son hadn’t come as a surprise. In truth, Wylan found it all terribly meddlesome. He knew that they were, frankly put, just curious to get to the end of his family matter. But he didn’t owe everyone the whole truth, and he held on to that fact each time discomfort started creeping up his spine.
Through attending gala meetings and hosting dinner parties, Wylan played a game of chess with people. Bargaining not only with Council members, but representatives from Ravka, Shu Han or Novyi Zem.
He hated the thought of tricking people, he hated taking advantage of naivety. But as Jesper always reminded him, he wasn’t taking advantage of anyone, he was just doing his job. And the Council members weren’t exactly naive either — he was, after all, the youngest of the bunch.
Every member of the Council picked a side to show to the world and one to hide, often concealing horrendous hypocrisies behind their facade. As a child, Wylan had been naive enough to think that everyone was exactly what they showed, but he had learned a thing or two from his time with Kaz Brekker.
And what if he had found out he was actually fairly good at it? He wasn't hurting anyone.
That was, somehow, part of the problem. Wylan had always been an anxious kid — punished for it by his father, too, called useless so many times the walls still echoed with the words of Jan Van Eck’s cold voice. He had expected that he would have dreaded any and every part of social relations.
But that wasn’t the truth. Slowly, with time, Wylan found out that he actually enjoyed a fair share of public relations. He didn't love it — not nearly as much as he loved spending time with his Mama, or Jesper, or his friends — but he’d begun to live with it. He had learned that he was far more resourceful than he’d thought, and Jesper never failed to praise him for it.
Kisses on his forehead and hair as soon as they were alone, whispers of see? I knew you could make it. Kisses on his cheeks, too, saying what a proper little mercher you have become, with enough affection to fill the city whole.
Wylan had always thought himself too weak, too useless to rule an empire as big and powerful as his father’s. He had his music, he had his watercolors and his ability to build demolitions. He didn’t even like chemistry, but that didn’t matter: Wylan had learned how to make himself useful in the Barrel, how to be skilled and good and prove to himself that he wasn’t just what he couldn't do. But taking the place of the man who has always deemed him the failure of his bloodline?
It had seemed impossible. Wylan remembered, almost with fondness, the very first few months living at the Mansion with Jesper and his mother. He remembered the fears haunting his sleep, too big for a boy who still felt small in a world of responsibilities and crude truths.
He had spent years drowning in fear, wishing he could stop existing altogether. He had wanted to hide for far, far too long.
But, as his mother said, Wylan’s brain had always been his greatest asset. After all, being part of the Merchant Council was another skill to build, another occasion to prove to himself that he was a fast learner, and a pretty skilled one. He had spent years thinking of himself as weak and incompetent, hanging on every cruel and stern word like a leaf trembling in the wind. He still found it hard to believe, most times, but he hadn’t ruined their empire. Far from it, actually.
You’re brilliant, Wylan, and you’re born to be a merchant. I’m sorry your father couldn’t see you for what you are.
It doesn’t matter if you can’t read, you know numbers in a way I could never dream of knowing. Not even Kaz.
His mother and Jesper hadn't doubted him, not even when he had doubted himself with the strength of a grenade blowing up. He still found it hard to believe everything they said to him, every reassuring word, every soothing kiss, every whispered secret or gentle caress on cheeks stained with tears.
But they had anchored him when he had felt like drowning. And slowly, Wylan had started to find his own footing, no longer a stranger in his childhood home.
Now, Wylan eyed the gorgeous wisteria hanging from the trellis, the canal glistening under rare, cherished Ketterdam summer sun. Their garden was embellished with cushions for the guests and, of course, an ample table with tea and pastries of all kinds. Everything had been chosen by Marya’s careful gaze.
She hadn’t participated in any social gathering with the councilmen's wives since she’d come back, but she had been stubborn not to let shame or the fear of prying ears take it away from her.
It was a decision Wylan wholeheartedly supported, even if it didn't come without his own share of worrying. Gossiping could be, after all, quite cruel.
“Wylan, dear, come sit with us,” his mother cheerfully chirped from her spot at the head of the table. The wives of the councilmen were already sitting around the white table, fine red napkins on their lap.
Wylan worried his lip. Had his mother already been subjected to intrusive questions and pitiful glances? Was her calmness just a facade? He felt Jesper’s hand squeezing his gently, bringing him back to reality.
“Gladly, Mama,” he said, trying his best to sound more put together than he felt as dozens of heads turned to watch him.
Wylan and Jesper’s presence hadn’t been requested nor necessary, but they both decided they’d step outside with such warm weather. His mother had been clear: she didn’t need to be assisted. It was something she wanted to do for herself, but Wylan was welcome if he wanted to join them.
It was clear that she was the one hosting, and that Wylan was only her son, this once. Not an influential member of the Council, just a nineteen year old boy with his mother back.
The more Wylan looked at the embellished tables — ornate pink teacups and cream-filled pastries — the more he thought of Nina. She’d moan absurdly around a mouthful of pastries, especially the strawberry flavored ones. Wylan’s stomach twisted a little. They hadn’t heard from her in months.
“Wylan was a little dictator as a child, you know,” his Mother laughed, bringing him back to reality. “He was small as a flea, he couldn’t even walk yet, and he had the whole household wrapped around his finger.”
Wylan’s ears pinked. “Mama…”
Marya politely waved him off, smile lovely and bright on her face. “It was impossible to deny him anything. He was always a lovely, lovely child.”
With the corner of his eyes, he caught a glimpse of Jesper’s mouth twisting into a grin. He was sure he would tease him all about it later on.
Mrs Hoede let out a polite, restrained laugh, retorting with an anecdote of her twelve year old boy. It was all like this: back and forth of polite conversation, other women giggling as they silently studied each other.
Wylan knew they all hid beneath the veil of polite small talk and sipping tea to gather every discordant piece they could find in one another, only to report to their husbands later on. None of it was as naive as it looked, and yet, Wylan’s ingenuous eyes couldn’t help but want to believe, even for a little while, that this was just a simple spring afternoon between his mother and other women from the Council. That these women actually cared about her nearly as much as they showed, with kindness and seducing words.
It was stupid: Wylan was aware of it. There were always second means, even if he didn’t like to look for them in everything. It was exhausting, in its own way. Wylan wasn’t a fool; he was aware everyone in Ketterdam had their secret agendas and egotistical reasons, he just believed — hoped — that it wasn’t all there was.
But of one thing he was sure: the wives of the Merchant Council members, apparently, adored him. He had met them a handful of times before, and it was clear that he was just an adorably wide-eyed, ill-fated kid to them. Truth be told, it didn’t fail to make him uncomfortable. But many of them were around his mother’s age, so it was only fair that they saw him like that.
Well, not all of them.
“Do you want another biscuit, gorgeous?” Evelien Schenck asked. Wylan blinked.
What a weird thing to ask in my own home, he thought. Still, he politely declined.
The woman in front of him was the youngest of the bunch; barely twenty one, all blonde ringlets and watery blue eyes. Wylan was pretty sure he didn’t like her. He felt sorry for her, though: her husband was older and much uglier, and he suspected it wasn’t a marriage of love. But that was probably ingenuous on his part: most Kerch marriages weren’t out of love.
His mother and his father had been in love, once, but they didn’t choose to marry each other out of fairytale enchantment. Kerch men and women grew practical and disenchanted from a very young age; you couldn’t afford to believe in starry-eyed, swooning romance.
Wylan tried his best to avoid Evelien's gaze, but she seemed rather persistent in searching for him with her eyes. She was the most recently wed of the bunch and clearly still not accustomed to the life of a Councilman’s wife. There was something both naive and sly about her that made Wylan a little uncomfortable.
He willed himself to get lost in the quiet noise of polite conversation again, in the waves of fresh laughter and seemingly concerned questions. It was refreshing, in its own way, to not have to lead the conversation. To not be the center of attention, to just be able to lie back and relax and enjoy the invisibility, if only for a little while.
Before his eyes, spring swelled. Rows of magnolias had begun to bloom along the canals, bringing tints of vibrant pinks to their quiet and bare street. The green of the neatly cut grass was in contrast with the bright azure of the sky, and red tulips bloomed with pride. It was only fair that Wylan saw a bright day with such warm colors as a potential painting.
Wylan remembered waiting for spring days as a child, after the dreadful rain-filled dark winter days. He remembered days at the Lake House with both his parents, his father telling him bedtime stories under the willow tree. His mother taking him outside the city to endless tulip fields, using their paint brushes to paint together all those wondrous colors.
Ketterdam had always been far from a sunny paradise, but as a kid, blooming plants and the vibrant green of the trees seemed like a miracle in the form of color. It still filled his eyes with magical wonder, even to this day.
Wylan poured a woman whose name he could not remember some rosemary tea, then picked the sweet peach tart for himself. He smiled and nodded and pretended he was following the course of the conversation. The Councilmen's wives had grace and composure even while eating pastries and tarts, getting their clothes anywhere near messy seemed like a completely impossible course of events. They wore their hair as was fashionable in Kerch nobility — in ringlet simple hairpieces — and wore sober, neutrally coloured gowns.
He was so accustomed to hearing only his mother and the other ladies’ voices, that when someone else spoke, he almost jumped in surprise.
Jesper coughed. Loudly, deliberately. “If you will excuse me, Ma’ams,” he said, politely bowing his head. He fixed the napkin that was on his throat and gave the women a toothy smile. “Me and my work partner have some important business to discuss. We'll take our leave and leave you to the rest of this delightful afternoon.”
Wylan furrowed his eyebrows, confused. What was Jesper thinking of? He had been silent for minutes and minutes on end, which was a strange occurance on its own.
Wylan didn’t want to spend his whole afternoon here, per se, but he had no idea what the other boy had on his mind.
His anxious gaze fixed on his mother’s unreadable face, quickly checking for any signs of discomfort. If her fiery posture and poised smile were anything to go by, she wasn’t helpless at all. Silently, his mother nodded, and that was reassurance enough that she was more than capable to face this alone.
“Oh,” Mrs Hoede softly cried. “You’re leaving so soon? I have to say, your company was a refreshing touch to our old matron boring talks.”
The rest of the women giggled, apart from Evelien, who seemed awfully offended that the other woman did not remember that she was, in fact, the youngest of the bunch. And very clearly not an old matron.
"Apologies, Mrs Hoede," Jesper rushed to say with an impeccable smile, but it was clear his mind was elsewhere.
Wylan wasted no time taking his leave, not without a touch of his good mercher manners, following Jesper's long strides towards the house. The Councilmen’s wives seemed rather unaffacted by their sudden leave, quickly returning to sipping tea and exchanging courtesies.
“Jes!” He said, quickly running to him when he was sure they weren’t paying attention. Ghezen’s hand, he walked way too fast to keep up with. “Jes…will you tell me what…”
It took one look, really. Jesper slowed his pace, allowing Wylan to catch up to him, now alone in the parlor. That was the first time Wylan took a clear look of Jesper’s face ever since they had joined Marya and the other women.
Jesper had such a deep, childish scowl that Wylan had to force himself not to erupt in wild laughter. He was ridiculous. In almost three years of relationship, Wylan had never seen him like this.
“Jesper,” he said slowly, quite unable to contain bubbling laughter. “Are you, by chance, jealous of Evelien Schenck?"
Jesper didn’t answer.
Wylan snorted. “You know she’s a woman, right? It’s not like you have anything to be jealous about.”
“I’m not jealous,” Jesper grumbled. “I’m just…just doing my job.”
“Are you, now?” Wylan said, biting his lip to hide a smile.
“Absolutely, we're business partners. I have to keep my merchling safe from anyone who might offend him.”
“And you’d call Evelien an offender?”
“She called you gorgeous. She looked at you like you were one of those pastries, a particularly delicious sort. Wouldn’t want you to risk getting flirted on, eh? I’m just doing my duty.”
“I see,” Wylan murmured, nodding solemnly.
Without further words, Jesper leaned down to kiss him fiercely, cupping his cheeks with broad hands. He didn’t stop walking, though, so Wylan was quite forced to walk backwards in the corridor with his eyes shut. He really, really hoped there wasn’t any member of the House Staff nearby.
Jesper continued kissing him until Wylan, quite unceremoniously, hit something solid with his back. He already had a complaint on his tongue when he felt Jesper’s hand leaving his face, down to push whatever surface Wylan had been pressed against. A door.
Wylan stumbled a little as the door behind him made him lose balance, until it was swung open. Jesper seemed very determined on kissing him, devoted to the very act like his life depended on it. As if it was a secret challenge between the two of them, Wylan kept kissing him as he walked backwards, not wanting to stop whatever had made Jesper act so impulsively in the first place.
Wylan pulled away just briefly, but enough to make sense of the room they had walked into. The deep brown mahogany and the wonderful absence of books — save for Wylan's favorite tales — could only mean one thing. It was his study.
Without saying a word, Jesper hoisted Wylan until he could sit on top of the wooden table. Wylan’s breath hitched a bit, not having expected it. But Jesper was incredibly gentle with him, even now that he was, for lack of a better word, manhandling him. Jesper got closer, leaning in for another kiss, searching for his lips like a blind man. His hands instantly went to Wylan’s hips, applying the lightest pressure there. (Jesper liked him in these trousers, or so he had said. The admission didn’t fail to make Wylan feel incredibly smug, especially when he caught him staring.)
The rare Ketterdam sun warmed Wylan’s back and hair from the window, making him feel wonderfully warm. Wylan, for his part, felt unexplainably giddy, his legs hoisted on Jesper’s hips and receiving all this feverish attention.
Jesper was always making fun of him for how eager he was: for the way he spoke, honest to a fault, or for Wylan’s complete inability to hide what he felt. But right now, Jesper was the eager one. Desperate, like he wanted to eat him up. Wylan had never thought of Jesper Fahey — confident, bright-eyed and brave Jesper — as someone who’d be jealous, let alone desperate. To see him like this for Wylan, though…it certainly was a headrush. To see that Wylan had this effect on the boy he loved? It made Wylan feel heady. It made Wylan feel wanted.
Jesper hadn’t stopped kissing Wylan since they first stumbled into this room.
“Mine,” he whispered sweetly against his lips, so quiet Wylan wasn’t even sure it was meant to be heard. His thumb had started drawing circles on Wylan’s cheek bone, the other hand pushing his curls back. Wylan was a bit too stunned to speak, to be honest.
Then, he began slurring words he didn’t understand, but that made heat rush to his cheeks nonetheless.
Jesper was always calling him names — pumpkin, sunshine, and lots and lots of other sickly sweet or absolutely obnoxious names. He’d even taken a try with hot stuff, but that was too much even for Wylan’s standards. The times he spoke in his mother tongue were rare, and always filled with vulnerability.
Weeks ago, Jesper had translated some Zemeni words he had whispered late at night, with a sheepish look on his face when Wylan asked him to. Treasure, love, dear one. He could only guess what they meant now, but he wasn’t sure he cared, as Jesper’s mouth dipped lower, giving attention to the exposed skin of his collarbone, with a kind of devotion that set Wylan’s cheeks aflame. He could only hope there would be no visible bruises.
“Are you done?” Wylan said, laughing incredulously.
Jesper stepped back. “I think I am,” he said, clearing his throat.
“Good.”
“Good.”
“You were just worrying about my safety, yes?”
“Absolutely,” Jesper nodded, bringing his hands to his hips as if he was fiddling with the absent revolvers.
Then he offered a hand out for Wylan to hold onto while he got off the table; quite unnecessary, but appreciated. Jesper was always one for surprising chivalry, after all.
“Better get on with the rest of our day then, gorgeous,” he said, punctuating the last word with the same Geldstraat accent of Evelien. Wylan snorted.
And he was the one always calling Wylan petty.
Following Wylan to the door, he squeezed his ass appreciatively, making the tips of Wylan’s ears pink.
“Jesper!”
Jesper just winked. “She can’t do this, can she?”
Wylan sniffed. “I thought you weren’t jealous.”
Jesper rolled his eyes. “Well, maybe I am. So what? You’re a work of art.”
Wylan softened a little. Speaking quietly, he said, “Well, you have no reason to be jealous, you know. It seems that I’m quite fond of you.”
Jesper’s grin faltered for a second, not reflecting the brilliant, cocky sharpshooter smile that everyone knew. Insecurity flashed in the set of his gray eyes, but it was gone as quickly as he had seen it. Wylan could have just as well imagined it.
Wylan was a little surprised to see Jesper leaning down again, meeting his lips in a chaste kiss. He hummed against his mouth, too, like this was the absolute most fun he could be having. What a thought to have.
There was something about him today that made Wylan flush with the rush of undivided attention. He was almost…slower, more intentional. Like he’d just stopped in his tracks and started seeing Wylan, although Wylan surely couldn't complain about his boyfriend’s lack of attention, ever. But this…this was different. If this was how Jesper acted when he got jealous, Wylan would have nothing to complain.
“Well, you know, I’ve never been afraid of losing anyone the way I am afraid of losing you. Not since Ma died. Maybe only my Da, when he came to Ketterdam and Kaz put him through the auction.”
Wylan blinked. “Are you?” Ghezen, what a stupid thing to say.
Jesper chuckled slowly. “All the time, merchling. Remember how you were worried ‘bout me leaving you for someone else, those first months?”
Wylan silently nodded.
“Well I’m always…” he took a deep breath. “I’ve never had anything like this before,” he said, gesturing awkwardly to the space between them. “You know I love you, right? Sometimes I feel fearless, but most times I feel really fucking terrified,” he said, laughing bitterly. “I didn’t know it would be this way."
There was almost something sheepish about him.
Wylan stayed in silence, tracing patterns on Jesper’s hand. “I think I know what you mean. Saying that was brave of you," he murmured quietly. "But I'm not going anywhere, Jesper."
Jesper nodded, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead.
“I dunno about brave, sweetheart,” Jesper admitted, grinning. "I just know that I couldn't stand seeing you even another second with that woman undressing you with her eyes."
"Undressing me is a little dramatic, Jes. It's not like she was in love."
Jesper shook his head. "I'm starting to believe you underestimate yourself, merchling. You can be very easy to fall in love with."
Wylan gave him a wide grin. "So everything that just happened was about you being jealous?"
"You really won't let it go, will you?" Jesper rolled his eyes.
"Absolutely not," Wylan said, eyes gleaming with unspoken affection.
"Well, then," Jesper sighed, raising his hands in resignation. "I have a free afternoon. And I have no intention of spending it watching other people flirt with you. I'm all yours, darling." To top it all off, he bowed ridiculously and kissed the back of Wylan's hand.
Against his will, Wylan felt his cheeks heat. I love you, he thought, but found himself unable to speak, overwhelmed by the intensity of his feelings. Jesper's eyes softened, as if understanding Wylan didn't have the words to say things far bigger and bolder than him, now.
Instead, Wylan cleared his throat. "I like you when you're devoted, you know."
Jesper grinned. "I'll make sure to be as devoted as can be, then, my dear."
Jesper was right. Wylan had no intention of spending the rest of his day with the councilmen's wives, either. Let alone being flirted on by anyone who wasn't his lovely, ridiculous boyfriend.