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Since the ending of the war for Fodlan's unification, the social calendar had been back in full swing. After many years of torment, socialites all across the continent welcomed the switch back into activities from peaceful days, and welcomed the reprieve after all the darkness. And, on a more frustrating note, members of Fodlan's upper class were desperately trying to network their way into the good graces of those with the Emperor's trust, in the hopes they could avoid having their nobility stripped from them as the continent took more and more steps toward dismantling the nobility.
Of course, Ferdinand thought with an internal eye roll as yet another minor noble from former Alliance territory tried to negotiate for his title, buttering him up wouldn't get anywhere. Or was this one from the former Kingdom? He was beginning to lose track, and he hadn't even stepped foot into the ballroom yet. Though he supposed at events like these, one had to approach as many connections as possible before the masks went up and you couldn't tell commoner from (former) nobleman.
Excusing himself from this painful conversation, Ferdinand finally stepped into the grand ballroom of the imperial palace, fastening his golden feathered mask on over his face, careful not to mess with the braids interwoven with his hair, half down. The ballroom, as ever, was an extraordinary sight, awash in autumn colors like a burning sunset sweeping over every corner. Every type of flower in a red and orange hue, in bouquets around the grand pillars of the room, warm ambient lighting setting a friendly glow over the party-goers. It was the largest event of the season, after all.
And the costumes. Ferdinand had always loved masquerade balls, for many reasons. Back in his childhood—and even now, as he tried not to gawk at the extravagant gowns and suits around him—the elaborate outfits, the finery, the masks, had always caught his eye. Grand balls held at the imperial palace in Enbarr always attracted the most bold and modern of fashion, but masquerades were at a whole other level; whorls of vibrant colors, party-goers dressed as beasts of old and heroes of legend, large sweeping skirts and ribbons swaying in the air. There was magic in the air tonight, a sparkle in the eyes and music in the voices of all attending.
The more recent reason for his love of masquerades was the anonymity. A younger Ferdinand would only ever wear the barest of masks, not concealing his identity in the slightest, as the thought of going somewhere without the whole world knowing that Ferdinand von Aegir was within the building felt like nothing short of a tragedy at the time. Now, as the Prime Minister of Fodlan and former Duke of Aegir—former, as he was the first of the Adrestian nobility to voluntarily forfeit his title and his lands—in a new and strange world, standing as the bridge between the old and new guard, it felt like his every action and every second spent in the place was monumental. Minor lords squabbling for every shred of his time off the dance floor, trying to appeal to him and drop hints on their disdain for the Emperor's approved policies such as elections and universal education (did they not realize that Ferdinand was the one who penned the latter?). And on the dance floor, his every move was scrutinized; who he danced with and for how long was watched for and judged, and while he was never one to shy away from public opinion, it was different when politics and public image went hand in hand. Most large dances had gone from a place of frivolous joy to an extension of the more exhausting variant of cabinet meetings these days; he never got time to dance with the one person he wanted to.
But now? Ferdinand could don a mask, covering his features from view, and could attend these balls like a normal person. It wasn't like he was completely unidentifiable; in fact, possibly the opposite, as there were not many other well-known men in high society at the moment with his build and stature sporting long, ginger hair. However, it was deemed impolite to bring business matters into masquerades like these, as the point was to at least feign anonymity.
So Ferdinand was free to do whatever he pleased with whomever he pleased. He went straight to the first shadowy corner he could see.
Perhaps it was of no use, he never wanted to stay at these events for too long, but Ferdinand wanted more than anything to spend time with Hubert tonight. Usually, while in conversation with a diplomat or whatnot at social events, Ferdinand would try to sneak glances at the tall figure in the shadows nearby, the only contact he would get with Hubert here beyond short conversations. Always dressed fully in black, but sometimes with fancy trim or a different length cape than usual that made Ferdinand want to lock his eyes on the other and never look away. Here, where he could do whatever he pleased, he could finally spend the event with him and perhaps coerce a dance out of the man. Though, he still needed to find him first, and since Edelgard wasn't in attendance at this ball, he had no real reason to show up.
Despite all odds, Ferdinand found the man, nearly tripping over his feet at the sight of him; wearing a crisp black suit with silver trim, a winding pattern in the fabric of glossy grey feathers, a short black cape over one shoulder, a black feathered mask over the top half of his face. His entire outfit was cut to fit his slim figure, making his legs look even longer than his uniform pants did, and the sleek feathers dusting his cheeks and brows matched his tousled black curls, swept out of his face for once. He was too gorgeous to spend the night cloaked in shadows, and after spending a moment gawking at him Ferdinand made a beeline to his shadow.
Hubert, ever the dutiful spymaster, saw Ferdinand approaching before he had reached the man, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Ferdinand, in a shadowed corner of the ballroom rather than preening in the center like a peacock? My my, this is most unusual behavior from you, Prime Minister."
"I am sorry, do I know you?" Ferdinand said slyly, chuckling, standing by Hubert's side.
His counterpart scoffed. "Don't play pretend, that mask covers nothing," he said with a roll of his eyes.
"Does it now?" Ferdinand had joined Hubert in scanning the room—the band seemed to be approaching the end of a song, good—but chanced a look toward his companion in the corner of his eye, all sharp angles and silver lining shining against the black. Beautiful. "Because I have not received any requests to use my power as Prime Minister to roll back our reforms since I have donned this mask. In fact, I have been approached by no former nobles or members of the old guard here in the ballroom. I do not think I have been this free at a social event since prior to the war!"
"Lucky you," Hubert said, "and what, pray tell, are your plans with your boundless free time?"
As the current song swelled, nearing its final note, Ferdinand finally turned to Hubert then, finding peridot eyes meeting his own. Mustering every ounce of courage he had, he extended his hand, sweeping into a bow. "I was wondering if you would do me the honor of sharing a dance?"
Still in the bow, he couldn't see Hubert's expression, but after counting to five he felt a gloved hand in his own. "Of course," Hubert replied, his voice smooth—perhaps with a note of fondness?—and teasing. "Whatever the Prime Minister needs, I will be at your beck and call."
Grinning, Ferdinand straightened, leading a smiling—smiling!—Hubert onto the dance floor.
~*~*~
The Twin Jewels of the Empire were a known duo, known for their accomplishments during the war and now in peacetime as the Emperor's left and right hands. Due to the social requirements of their roles, though—Ferdinand in the spotlight, Hubert in the shadows—they rarely danced with each other at these events, and when they did, they had to keep up the pretense of coworkers sharing a short, friendly dance. As much as Ferdinand wanted to scoop Hubert up in his arms and sweep him off his feet, they had to keep things professional.
Here, none of this mattered. They twirled around the ballroom for a song, then a second, then a third, refusing to let go of each other even as other couples around them parted. Instead, they stood closer and closer to each other as the songs progressed, and it was a miracle that they hadn't crashed into another couple with how their surroundings melted away and they danced in their little bubble.
Ferdinand knew that it wasn't like this night was completely without consequence; as had been noted, neither of them had chosen elaborate costumes and masks to truly conceal their identities. It was likely that many of the couples around them had taken notice of the Prime Minister and the Minister of the Imperial Household sharing multiple dances in a row, a move in high society that could only signify a romantic interest between partners. But with the supposed anonymity of the masquerade ball, they were at least granted plausible deniability. And Ferdinand definitely did not care enough to try to force himself to look less openly enamored with the man in front of him.
It wasn't like Hubert was any better. They had never communicated about it—there was never a good time—but Ferdinand was almost positive his feelings were reciprocated, from the way he looked at him to their daily teatime, sparked from a mutual exchange of gifts. And, another indicator being the way that the palace staff and even their own friends seemed to be conspiring to get their two most stubborn friends to collide; if the rumors about Edelgard's Jewels mingling weren't borne from some truth, Hubert likely would have stamped out the rumors before they could've even reached Ferdinand. No, with how close the two of them were standing now, Ferdinand knew they had something shared, something special. It was hard to tell with the mask over part of his face, but what Ferdinand could see of Hubert's expression had a softness, a certain vulnerability, that he rarely saw. He wanted to stay in this gaze forever. He wanted to stay in this ballroom, spinning around with the love of his life, never once leaving his embrace.
With the music swirling around them, they lost track of how long they spent in each other's arms.