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Somewhere to his left, a cork flew up to the ceiling, followed by peals of bubbling, tipsy laughter. The prime minister flinched at the sound, but his reaction went unnoticed in the crowd of revellers, or so he hoped. The war had ended over a year ago, but certain sounds, smells, and sights still conjured up memories, still too vivid to be easily brushed off.
On the other side of the ballroom, the musicians were preparing to play another set, and some eager couples were already swaying on the dance floor in their fanciful costumes, flushed with alcohol and heat. The way things were going, the masquerade was set to be the event of the summer, and though Ferdinand originally meant to turn down his invitation, he couldn’t say he regretted changing his mind.
Or rather, allowing Hubert to change his mind.
He chanced a look at his companion who barely left his side all evening. They were standing near the entry to the terrace, where the cool night breeze granted some reprieve from the oppressive heat of the ballroom, and where they could exchange a few words without shouting at each other. Hubert, though, seemed perfectly content to simply stand there and observe from that relative distance, his grim expression strangely inappropriate in the cheerful chaos all around them.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Ferdinand asked, toying with his half-full glass.
The other gave him a sidelong glance, and nodded slightly. He wore a plain black silk half mask, sparingly decorated with a spray of iridescent feathers on one side that seemed to emphasise rather than conceal the almost architectural quality of his features. Though, maybe it was just that Ferdinand knew his face too well to be confounded by a mere mask.
“I admit,” he continued, undeterred by Hubert’s silence, “that I was surprised when you asked to join me tonight. Surprised and pleased – it is so rare for you to be persuaded to leave the palace if it is not for one of your assignments, and it is practically unheard of that you would come without…” The rest of the sentence died on Ferdinand’s lips when the pieces finally slotted into place. “Oh.”
Hubert looked down at his own half-empty glass, but didn’t even have to decency to sound apologetic. “Our host is said to keep very lively correspondence with some persons of interest. I would like to see those letters for myself, and since an invitation conveniently fell into my lap-”
“Technically speaking, it did not fall-”
A dismissive wave. “Don’t trouble yourself over it. The next set is about to begin – go find a dance partner, and I’ll be back before you know it.”
Ferdinand bristled up and rested his hands on his hips. “I will be doing no such thing. You are here as my plus one, and therefore I am responsible for you.” When Hubert rolled his eyes, he blurted out: “I shall go with you, just in case.”
“Just in case of what exactly?” Hubert shot back in that arched, pointed manner that used to drive Ferdinand mad during their school days. Still did, sometimes.
The prime minister raised his chin, jaw set. “Take it or leave it.”
For a spell, neither said a word. Finally, Hubert’s shoulders drooped slightly, and a sigh escaped his lips. “Fine, have it your way,” he said reluctantly. “But if you become a hindrance, I will send you back to the ballroom. Understood?”
The other dropped his arms and offered Hubert a beaming smile.
“Understood!”
“You could have told me,” Ferdinand grumbled when they left the ballroom. The entire ground floor of the house was opened to the guests that night, smaller parlours transformed for card games, refreshments, rest, and that myriad of little things a host was expected to provide.
Hubert walked at a leisurely pace, only another guest, only another mask in the crowd. He paused, ostensibly to admire the floral arrangements, but mostly just making sure all the doors and staircases corresponded to the schema he’d consulted before he left the palace for the night.
“I saw no reason to.” A beat. “And don’t look at me like this, you originally weren’t even planning to go.”
Ferdinand crossed his arms, glaring at that same vase filled with tuberoses. “Is it that difficult to imagine I was looking forward to spending some time with you outside of the palace?”
Hubert blinked. “Yes…?” He shook his head and made for the parlour where refreshments were being served that night, with Ferdinand in tow. “Surely, you can’t be that desperate for company, considering you show up to these events every time with a different singer on your arm.”
Although his mask concealed the upper half of his face, the bright scarlet flush creeping up Ferdinand’s neck was hard to miss. “You make me sound like some sort of a… and I will have you know that I usually attend parties and such with Dorothea or Manuela. If they happen to be busy and think it fit to introduce me to a friend of theirs, well, there is hardly anything improper about that.”
If Hubert wished to be fair, he’d concede that, yes, it was an acceptable enough arrangement. After all, most of their mutual acquaintances, Hubert himself included, were not the most sociable sort. But he did not wish to be fair. Purely because that arrangement increased the number of discreet background checks to be conducted every season. For the sake of the Empire. Obviously. And so he said: “You do realise they’re using you to gain access to high society events.”
“Which is something you would never do,” Ferdinand remarked, innocence personified.
In that moment, those years of Hubert’s faithful service as the minister of the imperial household nearly came to an abrupt end when he choked on a caviar canapé. His eyes welled up with tears while he, coughing, shoved his hand into his pocket, searching for a handkerchief. Just as his fingers closed around it, Ferdinand slapped his back with enough force to turn Hubert’s spine into a piece of abstract art.
When he finally recovered – at least physically, his pride would need a few more minutes – he accepted a glass of something sweet and sparkly from Ferdinand, and took a big sip.
“We should move on before we attract even more attention,” he said, weary.
Ferdinand offered him an arm. In truth, to the onlookers they probably only looked like two guests engrossed in a lively conversation, but Hubert didn’t want to take any unnecessary risks. Also, the farther he was from the canapés, the better, should the next one prove to be fatal.
No, he was not being dramatic.
The upper floor of the estate seemed like an entirely different world, although the faint music leaking in remained the same. Hubert let go of Ferdinand’s arm, and summoned a small Fire to illuminate their way through the moonlight-streaked shadows.
“I hope you understand,” Ferdinand spoke up suddenly, “that I expect you to make it up to me later.”
“You won’t let it go until I agree, will you,” Hubert said, distracted. Now, were they supposed to turn right now, or was it the other…?
An indignant huff. “Correct.”
“Fine. In the very unlikely event that there is a next time, I promise to tell you in advance if I have something to take care of during an outing,” Hubert sighed, determined to ensure that there wouldn’t be a next time.
Ferdinand shook his head. “That is a given. What I mean is that I still want an evening with you.” Before the other could ask what they were doing now if not spending time together, he hastily added: “Without any other objectives.”
The Fire sputtered, though the mage’s expression remained neutral. It wasn’t that he didn’t wish to humour Ferdinand’s wish – on the contrary. But Ferdinand didn’t know what he was asking for. Had he known about the ache that flared up whenever he looked at Hubert, he wouldn’t make that request in the first place.
“The opera season begins soon,” the young duke continued, “unless you would rather do something else.”
“What are they performing?” Not that it mattered much – in the best case scenario, it would be something under four hours and with a plot not centred around a misunderstanding that would take two sentences to clear up. In the worst case scenario, there would be a children’s chorus.
“Tatyana Larina – Dorothea mentioned she might be playing the lead if all goes well.”
Hubert scrunched his nose. “If you end up crying again, I will leave before the end.”
Ferdinand threw his hands in the air. “That was one time! And I was hardly the only one, Bernadetta-”
“I have allergies,” Hubert jumped in to defend himself, realising a second too late that he should have, perhaps, remained silent. His mouth snapped shut.
The other stopped dead in his tracks. “You too?” he exclaimed, and if Hubert didn’t know him, he’d be tempted to think it was glee rather than surprise that coloured his tone. “Which part?”
“Allergies,” the mage repeated firmly.
Behind him, Ferdinand coughed into his fist, though it sounded suspiciously close to muffled laughter. “Ah, my apologies. Allergies, that must have been it.”
For a woefully brief moment, they walked in silence. The Ferdinand started again: “Have we not passed by this statue before?”
Interesting. Hubert was just wondering about that same thing. Not that he could admit it now.
“It is possible,” he said through gritted teeth, “that we’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere. Which wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t been distracting me.”
Any diva would be envious of the melodramatic sigh he got in response. “Or maybe your sense of direction leaves something to be desired.”
“Does it? Then enlighten me – where is the study?” Hubert hissed. Then he took a deep breath and slowly released it, mentally counting to ten. “Why are we doing this?”
Ferdinand bumped their shoulders together. “A fair question. Best we focus on the actual task, so we may return before anyone notices our absence.”
He offered him a lopsided smile, a quiet acknowledgement of their ceasefire. “I doubt anyone will. Still, we shouldn’t tarry.”
The door wouldn’t budge.
“It must be locked,” Ferdinand pointed out helpfully.
Hubert swallowed the first retort that came to mind, and only hummed in acknowledgement, patting his pockets for the pass-key he’d borrowed from Byleth’s extensive collection. Before he could locate it, Ferdinand got down on one knee in front of the door and ran his gloved fingertips over the keyhole.
“What are you-”
Ferdinand reached back and removed a long metal pin from his hair and slid it into the keyhole, trying different angles. A few strands of hair came undone, gleaming liquid gold in the shadows. Almost against his will, Hubert’s eyes followed one wave along the exquisite curve of Ferdinand’s neck all the way down his spine, exposed by the open back of his shirt.
Even if the investigation revealed nothing of interest, Hubert mused, the evening wouldn’t be a complete loss.
Ferdinand wore his hair up that night, secured by an improbable amount of pins, combs, and ribbons that also kept his own mask in place. White satin, like unseasonable snow. The shirt was made of the same glistening fabric, with heavily gathered sleeves and a tie around the waist, arranged into a neat bow in the back. Hubert’s gaze travelled from the bow upwards – briefly, he lingered on an old scar from Faerghus, just below his left shoulder blade – trying to guess the taste of his skin by look alone. Higher still, a choker of fiery garnets wound around his neck like a snare laid out specifically for Hubert.
He cleared his throat and averted his face. The pass-key. Right.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
Ferdinand stilled. “How difficult can it possibly be?”
Behind him, Hubert laughed, exasperated and fond in equal measure. “Stop before you actually break the lock.”
After a momentary hesitation, the noble relented, stood up, and put the pin back in his hair, disturbing its style even more in the process. “What do you propose we do? We could take the door off its hinges, but that could draw undue attention, should someone pass by.”
Hubert stepped forward, and gently pushed him away, the pass-key in hand. “Allow me.”
Ferdinand stared at the key, then at Hubert, his face under the mask red enough to rival the choker. “Why did you not say something earlier?”
The other shrugged, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”
The easy answer to Ferdinand’s question, certainly, because had he dared to choose the more accurate one, other questions – dangerous questions – would follow. Hardly the distraction he needed that night.
Ferdinand paused in the middle of the study and looked around, hands on hips. “What are we looking for?”
“We are not looking for anything,” Hubert corrected him, offhand, “because I know what I’m here for. If you want to make yourself useful, keep watch for… well, anyone that might think to come here.”
The other opened his mouth to say something, but then thought better of it and simply stationed himself near the door. It was locked again, which set his mind at ease somewhat, but theirs wasn’t the only key, and should, say, the host walk in on them… no, best not to think it into being.
Hubert seated himself at the large writing desk near the window, lit the lamp, and began to open its many drawers one by one. Nothing of interest – bills, mostly from the tailor, stubs of tickets to the theatre, a few sheaves of blank paper, broken quills, a torn piece of blotting paper, as well as a handful of blank envelopes.
“Did you find anything?” Ferdinand asked, pacing back and forth in front of the door, hands clasped behind his back.
“Patience,” Hubert murmured, feeling under the desk for a hidden compartment.
His companion paused, then resumed his pacing, his footsteps muffled by the carpet. “I understand you are simply being thorough, but if we are absent from the party for too long, someone will notice.”
“Feel free to return, then.”
That, at last, finally silenced him.
Hubert’s fingers brushed against an imperfection in the wood, and he pressed against it – lightly at first, then more firmly when the wood yielded, and a stack of letters, tied with a piece of twine, fell into his waiting hand. He picked up the first one and unfolded it. A single glance at the signature at the bottom, and his eyes narrowed.
Ferdinand watched him with disapproval, but since Hubert wasn’t paying him any attention, the impact was negligible. Almost imperceptibly, Ferdinand’s expression softened behind the mask. The way his… esteemed colleague went about things still sat poorly with him sometimes, but the measure of trust placed in his hands didn’t go unnoticed. After all, Hubert could’ve slipped out of the ballroom at any point, with any number of perfectly plausible excuses, but he did not.
“Hubert?”
Only the faintest tilt of his head signalled that he was listening – other than that Hubert’s eyes never left the letter in his hands. The lamplight didn’t reach far, didn’t spill beyond the desk and the man settled behind it, sifting through another’s secrets. Were it not for the mask, he’d resemble one of the old paintings that weren’t exiled from the palace when Edelgard relocated to Enbarr after the war.
He’d stayed silent for too long. Hubert’s mouth twitched in the first hint of displeasure as he finally looked up.
“What is it?”
“Hubert, I…” Ferdinand cleared his throat and shook his head, suddenly unable to meet the other’s gaze. “Never mind. I thought I heard someone in the hallway.”
The mage frowned, set the letter aside, and unfolded the next one.
“Anything of interest?” Ferdinand inquired, his voice oddly strangled.
“An excellent question.” Hubert leaned forward, resting his chin on his folded hands. As for treason, the letters suggested none. From the security standpoint, that correspondence was as innocent as a newborn lamb. If its contents got out, however, the recipient would have to fake his death, change his name, fake his death and change his name once again for good measure, and then move to Dagda. A little chuckle slipped him. “I shudder to think what could happen were those letters to fall into the wrong hands.”
Ferdinand hesitated, at war with himself. Then his curiosity won: “What do they say?”
Hubert looked up, bright green eyes glittering with amusement. “It wouldn’t be very noble to read through correspondence not intended for you, would it?”
Ferdinand abandoned his post by the door in lieu of coming to stand behind Hubert, trying to peek over his shoulder. “Your point would have more weight if you were not so obviously teasing me.”
Before he could make out a single line, Hubert pressed the letter against his chest, concealing it from view. Ferdinand lunged after it, and nearly tripped in the process. Laughing, he walked around the armchair, one hand outstretched for the letter.
The longer Hubert watched him, the lighter he felt, stifled laughter rumbling in his chest. Maybe they both drank more than they should have, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind. After all, he managed to accomplish what he came for with negligible diffi-
A key rattled in the lock.
Their merriment gone in an instant, the two men exchanged a look. Time seemed to stretch into infinity as the key turned in the lock at a glacial pace, its faint ‘click’ as final as the whip of Dark Spikes. For a second, the world stood still.
The very next second, as if to make up for the delay, everything startled into rapid movement – Hubert shoved the letter into the stack, which immediately fell apart and spilt onto the carpet beneath his feet – the doorhandle moved – Ferdinand seized the lapels of his jacket and yanked him into a kiss.
Ferdinand seized the lapels of his jacket and yanked him into a kiss.
Ferdinand yanked him into a kiss.
Hubert froze, any semblance of coherent thought out of his grasp. Distantly, he was aware of the study door creaking open, but all he could focus on was the sensation of Ferdinand’s lips on his. His eyes fluttered closed as he wrapped his arms around Ferdinand’s waist to pull him onto his lap. He could still taste the wine they had earlier, and surely, it was the wine that made his head spin. Just like that, he was kissing him back, chasing after Ferdinand’s lips when he made to withdraw, drunk on the soft whimpers pouring from his lips.
Emboldened, Hubert ran his gloved hand up Ferdinand’s naked spine, and he felt the shudder his touch elicited almost as though it were his own.
With a gasp, Ferdinand pulled away, only to lean closer again, covering Hubert’s jaw in kisses before he moved onto his neck, tasting the mage’s racing pulse. Hubert’s lips parted as teeth grazed against his skin, and he dug his fingers deeper into Ferdinand’s back, seeking even more contact.
Somewhere on the edge of perception he could hear the door close again, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing but the heat of the body pressed against him, surrounding him, enveloping him in the haze of aftershave, sweat, and his own blind, searing want.
After they finally parted, breathless and flustered, the feeling lingered. Ferdinand touched his own kiss-swollen lips, as though he couldn’t quite understand what had happened.
“I thought…” he began haltingly before he trailed off, took a deep breath, and tried again: “I thought it would be somewhat difficult to explain our presence here, and I could not think of anything better at such a short notice. My apologies, I-”
“No,” Hubert interrupted him, voice raspy, “it was a tactical decision, I… obviously, I realised that.”
That way he could, perhaps, be permitted to pretend that it was all an act, a means to an end. A few strands of hair came loose from Ferdinand’s hairstyle, and his fingers itched to tuck it behind his ear.
“So you forgive me?” Ferdinand slowly, almost reluctantly relaxed his grip on Hubert’s jacket. He shifted on his lap, acutely aware of Hubert’s gloved hand on the small of his back.
Hubert tipped his head back, green eyes meeting gold. “It’s not like you to fret over things that already happened, Ferdinand.”
The noble reached back and fiddled with the ribbons in his hair until his mask came loose. Glad to be free of it, he wiped at his face and then looked down at the scrap of shimmering white satin in his hands. “We may have our disagreements, but I could not bear to lose y- our good relationship like this.”
Hubert plucked the white mask from his companion’s unresisting fingers, and tossed it on the desk. A few seconds later, the black one followed. It’d be a strange symmetry if their affection – grown out of endless arguments, awkward misunderstandings, and hesitant compromises – was to be ruined by a kiss.
There would be no fight, no. First, he’d let go. They’d pick up the letters and slip out of the house before anyone noticed their absence. Next Monday, they’d bump into each other and exchange the usual pleasantries, neither quite meeting the other’s gaze. They’d remain cordial in public, but their schedules would mysteriously never align in a way that would allow for a shared break. Gone would be their easy understanding, and nobody would ever know.
A revolting thought.
“Then I suppose I have no choice,” Hubert whispered, “but to get even with you.” A pause. “If that’s acceptable?”
Ferdinand’s eyes widened when the implication sank in, and then his face lit up with a smile. “Yes, I believe that would be more than fair.” He licked his lips, giddy with anticipation. “Very well – I am ready.”
The mage shook his head. “We should leave before anyone else barges in.” Something suspiciously akin to hurt flashed across Ferdinand’s face before Hubert continued: “But if I am not mistaken, I still owe you an evening out. They do say that revenge is a dish best served cold.”
The laugh his remark earned him had less to do with mirth and more with relief. Ferdinand rested his forehead against Hubert’s, distractedly smoothing down the lapels of his jacket.
“I will hold you to it. ”