Work Text:
“There!” Philippe said, his broad face breaking into a fierce, triumphant grin. “Less than twenty moves. Now you must do my bidding!”
“You are King of Sabria. Doing your bidding is a knight’s first prerogative,” Ilario scowled. “And must you always go after my poor tetrarchs? You didn’t even pay any attention to my warriors! Three more moves and I would have had you quivering in your boots!”
Philippe’s smile turned only more smug. “That’s your problem, Ilario. You go with the flow and never plan long-term. It was actually a good opening, till you ruined it by—“
“Oh, please spare me, sire!” Ilario said, dabbing his lips with his lace kerchief. “I simply fail to understand why you want me in this scheme at all, especially in light of what you just said. You can’t expect this cousin of yours to solve our riddle overnight. I fear the secrecy required by such a prolonged assignment would inevitably elicit a degree of confidentiality far superior to what I am accustomed to handling.”
“On the contrary, I believe you’ll handle it much too well,” Philippe said. His eyes were kind, and sad.
Ilario straightened his back, but before he could entertain a rebuttal, Philippe asked: “Do you know how many long-lost relatives have sought me out since I’ve become King?”
“How many did you share a real family connection with in the first place?” Ilario snorted.
“Exactly,” Philippe said, saluting him with his glass of red wine before downing it in a long swallow. “Only one never made any attempt to get my attention.”
Ilario stared at him with barely concealed horror. “Your Majesty! You decided to bet Geni’s future on this man just to satisfy your egocentrism?”
“Of course not,” Philippe waved him off with a disgusted grimace. “I’ve had him watched for years. For obvious reasons I need to have all of my relations watched, no matter how distant our kinship, but he’s the one that’s been worrying me the most…because he lives straight in the enemy’s nest, the Collegia Magica de Seravain.”
Ilario choked on his brandy. “I must be more drunk than I thought,” he said, as soon as his fit of coughing had subsided. “I could have sworn I heard you say you’re putting a mage in charge of the investigation.”
“You did once express your concern that Michel, with his flaunted scorn for sorcery, might not be the best choice,” Philippe said, his eyebrows raised.
“My reservations against Michel de Vernase notwithstanding, sire, I highly doubt that a mage could be objective in examining a case where magic is so heavily implicated,” Ilario pointed out.
“Well, I happen to agree with you,” Philippe said. “Cousin Portier, however, is as far from a mage as possible. He seems to be completely incapable of spellwork, according to those who believe in such things, naturally.”
“Naturally,” Ilario drawled. “If he’s failed, though, it escapes me why you’re so convinced he can help us.”
“Because Portier is a librarian and knows everything there is to know about the history and practice of magic. All reports I’ve had of him—and I can assure you, I commissioned many— agree that he’s the utmost expert on anything magical. And that’s precisely what we need: someone who can give a sense to what happened!”
“All the wisdom of a sorcerer without any of the associated perils,” mused Ilario. “Yes, I can see now why you chose him. Yet pretending to trust him with such an important task while having me watch his every move? Forgive my impertinence, Majesty, but that’s hardly honorable.”
“I am well aware,” Philippe said, flushing. “But desperate measures are imperative in such a dire situation as we find ourselves in. Eugenie…”
“…would never approve of us clearing her name at the cost of an innocent man being so ill-used.”
Philippe sighed. “Listen to me, Ilario. I’m not asking you to befriend Portier and then betray his confidences. All I want you to do is to get to know him and gauge his character better than I will be able to in the short interview I’ll be having with him. Following him around is necessary also for Portier’s own safety. Gods, Michel could have used a bodyguard and Portier’s definitely no Michel.”
Ilario was silent for a long moment. “I still dislike this arrangement,” he said, eventually.
“But you’re willing to proceed?” Philippe inquired.
Ilario gave a short nod. “My one hope is that it will aid prove my lady’s innocence.”
“Yes, we must find the real culprits this time,” Philippe said with grim determination. He raised to refill his own glass, took a sip, then added: “Portier will arrive in two days’ time. I’ll meet him first and then introduce him to you.”
“I have just the perfect ensemble in mind. I’m thinking scarlet, with a touch of green.”
“I bet you are,” Philippe laughed. Suddenly a spark lighted in his eyes. “Portier is said to be dark, small and slim. Exactly your type,” he commented, the corners of his mouth taking a sly curve.
Ilario huffed. “One time! One time only you caught me! How long do you plan to keep—”
His tirade went unheard as Philippe exited the room, chuckling.
For all that he had mentally steeled himself for this encounter, Portier de Savin-Duplais still took Ilario by surprise.
He had expected such a learned man to be confident and contemptuous, but the stiffness of his back was too unnatural to be mistaken for anything else but anxiety and the wideness of his eyes as they laid on Philippe spoke of earnestness rather than presumption.
It was the mouth, though, that sealed Ilario’s first impression. As he introduced himself with his best bow and dazzling speech, he couldn’t help but notice Portier’s jaw falling. Completely taken in by Ilario’s words and manners, in a few seconds his face went from dumbstruck to mystified to outright disbelieving before settling into utter mortification.
He was adorable.
The moment the thought crossed his mind was the moment Ilario knew that the man was trouble.
To his own amazement, he realized he was looking forward to it.