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“Lancelot. How is your infiltration coming along?” Arthur asked, waiting for the agent to respond to the computer's request to link up to his glasses.
“Very nicely, Merlin,” Lancelot responded as the screen came to life in front of Arthur. It showed a large room, little round tables dotted around, all of them covered in pristine white tablecloths. A small stage had an orchestra seated upon it; the violinist swayed to and fro as the bow flew across the strings, the others intent on their music sheets. Suited men and women in dazzling dresses spun around the dance floor, all of their clothes clearly expensive. On another stage were a number of glass pillars, within which Arthur could see a variety of jewels, some of which had been acquired by illegal means if his computer had correctly matched them to the alerts stored in the database. Along the perimeter of the hall were a number of armed guards, each of them pacing up and down an allotted space.
“It looks like you have a number of hostiles who could cause you trouble, Lancelot. Please, for the love of God, don't do anything stupid.”
“When do I ever, cher?” Lancelot muttered. Arthur could almost see the confident smirk on his face.
Rolling his eyes, Arthur shook his head. “Just find the files, would you?” Arthur told him. “Preferably before Wang realises you're not supposed to be there.”
Someone called Lancelot's assigned undercover name and he turned his head. A woman in a red dress was stalking towards him. The dress itself was low-cut (so much so that everyone could see the curve of her breasts) and had a slit up one side so her long, pale leg could be seen. It also appeared to sparkle but Arthur figured it was likely glitter of some sort. Her lips were smeared with lipstick to match the dress and her heels looked deadly. The glasses she wore were slim and designer, though they did not detract from her overall appearance. Her blonde hair had been plaited and an ornamental rose had been affixed to the end – that also looked deadly.
Something which, in this profession, was usually the case.
“Monsieur Chevalier! I am glad to have caught you alone.” She smiled up at Francis and batted her eyelashes. Back at HQ, Arthur rolled his eyes again.
“And, ma chérie, I am glad you have caught me.”
“You are not there to flirt, Lancelot,” Arthur warned him, sure he had winked at the woman. He hated it when Lancelot did that when it wasn't part of the job. It made Arthur doubt everything he knew about their own relationship, such that it was. If it even was one. Arthur could never tell what they were supposed to be to each other but it seriously interfered with his work. Sometimes. All right, maybe more than sometimes.
“Have you seen the rest of this wonderful mansion?” the woman asked, unaware of Arthur's crisis.
“I am afraid I have not,” Lancelot continued.
Groaning, Arthur decided he may as well do a background check on the woman Lancelot was obviously taking to bed for 'more information'. As he waited for the results, Lancelot followed her from the ballroom and into the massive foyer. Arthur wrinkled his nose: it was very ostentatious. They climbed the ornate stairs, the woman leading the way and Arthur caught Lancelot looking at the woman's arse, made all the more noticeable by the way the dress clung to her wide hips.
“Eyes front, soldier,” Arthur said, dryly.
There was no response but he didn't expect one. After all, if Lancelot spoke to him, it would blow his cover. However, Lancelot did turn his head to look at the portraits lining the wall. “Who are these, chére?” he asked the woman.
“Who are-? Oh.” The woman barely glanced at them. “Old family members.”
Family members? Arthur didn't like the sound of that and quickly brought up the history of the mansion Yao Wang had managed to find to host the ball. The information that came up said that it had once been owned by the Richelieu family, a powerful and rich family which managed to avoid the repercussions of the French revolution by leaving the country for several years before returning to claim their land again. Unfortunately, because of the revolution, they had been deemed not to have a right to it and it had slipped from their fingers and into the hands of the Tasse family.
At that moment, another alert sounded and Arthur quickly brought up what his search had provided on the woman. As it turned out, her name was Morgause Richelieu – which was odd since the house had not returned to their family's hands. So why were her ancestor's paintings on the wall? Her given name itself was worrying as well, in terms of Kingsman and the Arthurian legend. Arthur had a sinking feeling that this particular mission was about to become very, very complicated. Not to mention dangerous.
Then he looked further and found that she had suspected ties to an assassination agency which Kingsman had tried to bring down previously. He was sure Lancelot had been the one on that mission and he had barely gotten out alive. The thought scared him and he had to take a deep breath.
“Lancelot,” he said, making sure he had a firm tone. “Listen to me. That woman may or may not be an assassin. She may know assassins. I don't know why Wang needs her or why she's there but I doubt she means you well. Get out of there. Now .”
Unfortunately, by that point, they had reached a door. Morgause paused in front of it and turned to her partner. With a seductive smirk and come hither eyes, she opened the door. “Shall we?” she asked, her voice low and sultry.
“Of course,” said Lancelot, holding the door for her.
Arthur stared, wide-eyed. What the hell did Lancelot think he was doing?! “ Get out of there! ” he hissed.
He could only watch as Lancelot shut the door behind him and stepped forward. Morgause continued to walk backwards, luring him into the room. Then, without warning, she ripped off the skirt of her dress, produced a knife and threw it at Lancelot. Lancelot ducked out of the way and a fight ensued. As they traded blows, Arthur sighed and hacked into the security cameras. The party-goers were being ushered out of the hall, reason unknown. However, all of them were getting into cars at the front. At the back, a few dozen guards began to jog into the mansion.
“Shit,” he said. “Lancelot, you've got company. The room you're in is only one floor up. Can you get past the wall? I can send a car for you in a few minutes.”
Glancing up, Arthur watched as Lancelot, disarmed the assassin and pushed her against the wall. He pinned her there, looking her up and down. Arthur took in the information, capturing pictures of a tattoo Lancelot had spotted, the extent she had been armed (several throwing knives, a gun and a garotte), and other essentials to be stored for later use. Then, inexplicably, Francis leaned in and kissed her. Arthur froze, watching as the kiss went on for some time. Finally, they broke apart and Arthur felt like he could breathe again, if somewhat shakily. His eyes burned but he rubbed at them and ignored the sensation.
“Sorry, amour, but I must dash,” Lancelot declared before standing back to use his watch to knock her out.
“You couldn't have just done that before?” Arthur demanded, frowning at the image of Morgause slumping to the floor.
“I like to show ladies a good time, especially if they are up for a little... contact sport.”
“Oh, Lord. Why do I get saddled with you every time?” Arthur groaned. Than again, it was his own fault for being Merlin, he supposed. “Look, just get out of that building. There are too many-”
“And what about the evidence. I came here to get it and I shall.”
“ Francis ,” Arthur growled, glowering at the screen. “We have enough evidence now to know he's up to no good. You don't need to-”
“Yes, I do. Wish me luck, mon mignon – I may need it!”
With that, Francis Bonnefoy hurried to the bedroom door and, after receiving a confirmation from Arthur as to whether anyone was outside, kicked it open. It whacked a guard in the face and the man went flying. As for his companions, Francis began a display of fluid, balletic attacks which laid them out quickly.
Meanwhile, Arthur was still sulking, annoyed at several things. The fact that Francis had ignored Arthur to follow Morgause. Francis kissing her. Him ignoring Arthur's advice. And, most of all, being called 'cute' or 'cutie'. He hated that. Because, if Francis gave him pet names, what was he supposed to do? What was he to Francis who would choose to kiss people when he knew Arthur was watching?
“Merde,” he heard Francis say in a break between guards, most of whom were making a sweep of the majestic mansion floor by floor.
“What?” Arthur asked, making sure Francis could hear his sulky tone.
“I feel dizzy and light-headed.”
“What? What do you mean?!” Arthur leaned forward, staring at Francis's vitals. His heart rate was higher than it should be, he was breathing too fast and perspiring far too much. By the looks of it, his temperature had risen, too. “ Shit ,” Arthur breathed, wide-eyed. “Did she hit you with anything? Something that cut you or injected you with anything? Because, from these readings, it looks like you've been poisoned.”
There was a brief pause. “No... But I...”
Arthur was just as quick to put two and two together. “Oh, shit , you kissed her! You idiot !”
“I apologise, Arthur. I will be more careful next time.”
“Next time? Next time?! There may not even be a next time, Bonnefoy, if you don't get treatment soon! You fucking idiot!”
“Can you shout a little less? My head is pounding.” Francis started off down the hall – away from the stairs.
“Where the fuck are you going?!” Arthur snapped, now royally pissed off.
“I'm going to find the evidence,” Francis answered, his voice beginning to slur. “You can thank me later.” At that point, he was passing a mirror and he winked at his reflection, though Arthur knew it was directed at him. His body heated up and he squirmed on his seat, knowing full well his cheeks were red. But no matter how embarrassed he was, he knew that he would allow Francis to woo him when he returned, if the Knight wanted.
As long as Francis made it back intact.
“Fine,” Arthur growled. “But, if you die, I'm going to kill you, Bonnefoy. Let me just bring up the schematics.”
“Merci, mon amour.” Francis's smile could be heard several miles away: Arthur was thankful his worried expression was seen by no-one.