Chapter Text
Her brother was buried in letters and documents, and was drowning himself in his morning coffee when the princess walked into the breakfast room. He gave her a nod, half-distracted already by some sheet that his secretary sneaked in between his scrambled eggs and bread.
There was no use in protesting this desecration of a hearty breakfast, and so Lumine took her seat at his opposite, and made it known that she desired her correspondence as well. From the corner of her vision, she saw a brief smile flicker over his lips. Now smiling as well, she went to imitate his busy-making, while simultaneously nibbling on an apple tart. She stopped midway, glancing down in surprise. A sweet flower—the fresh kind—was decorating the top of the tart. She plucked it, savoring its fresh and fleshy texture.
Have we received a shipment from Mondstadt? If so, I wonder if they also brought some potted windwheel asters. It would be nice to try and cultivate them again with my reworked equipment. She took a glance, but reconsidered asking: her brother's face looked strained as he signed some papers.
She finished what remained of her tart. I suppose my windwheel asters can wait.
She could hardly complain—her unfulfilled, little desires aside. Despite his ever growing queue of responsibilities, the young king insisted on having breakfast together, even when half the time was spent opening letters and giving out orders to pass to his secretaries and the people below. She learned to do the same, not wanting to be the only one idle, though her personal burden was significantly lighter, and consisted mainly of accepting the warm regards of her good acquaintances, as well as sifting through numerous invitations to parties.
For the most part, at least. She held up a foreign, silvery envelope, her hesitance long enough to be noticed by her brother. To her disdain, his eyes were sharp enough to single out the seal, and figure out instantly who it was from. “That guy again? I thought I told the secretaries to discard his letters.”
She bit her lip, not in the mood for a fight. “He is one of our allies. It would reflect badly upon us if we were to ignore his correspondence and—”
“They say he's an illegitimate son.”
“They say the same about every other mildly successful noble. Besides, the circumstances of one’s birth are hardly the person’s fault. If I recall correctly, then your good friend Caribert is hardly legitimate himself. And yet, you seem to have no qualms about inviting him to your outings.”
Her brother set down his pen and papers, his full attention on her. Oh how she wished he would do this more often! Minus the quarreling, of course. “But that guy’s a madman, sister. A true madman, with a questionable background, and I don't care if he's got a mansion on the Moon and that he’s been acknowledged by the Tsaritza! What I do care about is that he's been persistently sending you this nonsense, ever since he's danced with you once at the Tsaritza's Midwinter Ball!”
She allowed him to pause and breathe, while picking at the leftovers on her plate.
The whole thing had been her mistake, Lumine admitted. She had accepted that man’s offer to dance, not knowing of his reputation, and not thinking anything much of it until she caught the other guests’ curious and equally worried glances. But how was she to know, indeed! He had been perfectly gallant, and had shown polished manners, so that she had not suspected a thing. Besides, almost all guests had worn a mask, that day, and he had appeared—on the whole—pleasant and handsome. She had had no reason to reject his hand, and certainly none to evade the perfectly amiable conversation that had followed.
And now, suddenly, she was in this mess!
Making use of her brief distraction, her brother snatched the letter, skimming through the first paragraph with a deepening frown. Before she could protest, he crumpled it mercilessly and passed it over to a servant. “As I said,” he continued, using a handkerchief to clean his hands, “this lunatic is not worth your attention.”
They finished breakfast in relative peace, after which her brother was whisked away by his secretaries, leaving her with little else to do but to retreat to her chambers. She stopped by her study, of a mind to write replies to a handful of more or less important acquaintances. There was her desk, standing beside the window, and there was her stationery, and there—she froze, blinking—there, tucked unassumingly between some unopened parcels and a spring catalog from Floral Whisper, was another silvery letter. Her fingers hovered over it, eyes darting in panic to the trash bin nearby.
A lunatic and a madman. Perhaps her brother was right. Yet, was she not duty-bound to inspect each and very letter? Was that not what their teachers had taught them? Throwing a furtive glance over her shoulder, she bit her lip, and broke the seal.
“You will forgive me, princess, if I skip the usual formalities, for I truly don’t think that you care as much for them as many assume. At least, such is the impression that I got of you during our brief acquaintance. You are surprised, I reckon, to find this letter between the little trinkets that the world above has sent for your perusal. The reason for this you must know yourself: Your honorable brother is, of course, none too pleased about my person. I cannot fathom why. Though as they say in Mondstadt, we are all free to have our likes and dislikes, so I feel that I cannot hold this against him.
With that being said, I had naturally predicted that your brother will, shall we say, overlook my letter, as he had numerous times before. Hence why I took the liberty of sending another, while using the first one as simple decoy.”
She paused, her breath first stuck at the sheer audacity, then leaving her in a panicked whoosh as she considered all that was left unsaid. So he knew that her brother was discarding his letters! What would the Tsaritza think of this slight? She did not think they could use a political scandal, what with the recently signed trade agreement and other such perks.
Breathless with worry, she continued on.
“As it happens, I was visiting Mondstadt for personal business when I came across some Khaenri’ahn merchants, and took the liberty of striking a conversation. They spoke most eagerly and fondly when I asked them about their princess. This, I hope, does not come as a surprise. And I am well aware that your honorable brother may regard this act of curiosity as transgression. Yet, I am sure he will magnanimously forgive it, once he hears that I have done this with no other motif but to pass on a little gift. I have heard, you see, of your little hobby. And as a fellow curious soul myself, I think it is only right to support your research.”
She paused, permitting herself a breath. For now, it sounded like her acquaintance was kind enough not to spread word to the Tsaritza herself. This was, good, right? And a gift, he said? Perplexed, she set the letter aside, only then noticing a little parcel that stood out from the usual gifts from her brother’s friends and allies from Mondstadt.
He’s a madman, sister!
Mindful of her brother’s warning, she picked up a pair of gloves, before arming herself with her sharpest scissors. Then, she carefully cut through the paper. Peeling off the outer layer, she found a glass container with an odd looking plant. It had fleshy stems, and peculiar bulbs with little tendrils that stuck out in all directions. On top of those tendrils were little drops that looked like glass pearls. Speechless, she was about to open the case when a flicker of caution stopped her.
Instead, she took up the letter, now reading it with greater attention.
“...this specimen, in particular, is part of a strain that I have modified as part of a fun little project. You have not touched it, I hope? It is quite beautiful at first glance, but you must know that the substance that covers it is a potent glue. I imagine that it must glimmer quite stunningly, even under your artificial sunlight. It should do well below the earth, so long as you water it with the fertilizer that I have enclosed.”
She studied the plant, torn between fascination and horror. “It is… by all means disgusting,” she summarized. “Who would give a woman a gift like this? A madman, yes. I believe this exactly is what my brother and others would say.” And yet her eyes shone bright as she inspected it closely for a minute or two. Then, she glanced at the letter. Quickly hiding the former at the very bottom of her drawer, she went about finding a secure spot in her little sunroom, where she kept all her other imported plants. With this task done, she returned to her desk. For a small, lucid moment, she imagined her brother’s shocked face, and the displeased expression on Sir Dainslef’s once they found out what she’d done. “But it’s not like I can send it back,” she reasoned. “The plant won’t survive the journey back. And since I’ve taken it in, it is only right that I return some words of gratitude. This much should be fine. It is only a letter.”
It took a whole week and then some more before the next letter reached her in much the same manner as the first, this time having infiltrated a shipment from Liyue.
“It gladdens me that you like it. After some back and forth with my colleagues, I have found that a surprisingly low percentage of ladies consider this particular specimen a suitable gift. (You disagree with this, I hope?) With that being said, I confess to having received nothing but backlash from the female population—a thorough backlash and a request that I send something more sensible the next time I correspond with you. (Some even dared to jest that I stop this nonsense altogether! I cannot believe the audacity of some.) And so, in summary, you will find enclosed a far less curious side-project that has succeeded in passing the peer review. Worry not, for it is free of special surprises such as sticky tactile features, although I don’t recommend taking it orally, for it may cause some dizziness for an hour or so.”
She unwrapped the box using the same procedure, her eager fingers betraying her curiosity that won over reason and shame. He is a madman, for sure. Sir Dainsleif will give me an earful if he discovers me nurturing a poisonous plant. The tension fell off her shoulders, however, when she unpacked a dainty, potted flower. After depositing it carefully on a suitable shelf, she spent a dutiful hour studying the catalogs, before finding the mother plant from which this specimen had likely been derived from. “A glaze lily, then,” she said, glancing in hope between the presently closed bulb and the picture. “I am not certain if my sunroom is at all suitable to host it. It says here that it requires a day-and-night cycle. Perhaps, if I tweak the lamps just a little…”
She could not send her reply until a month after, due to the rain season in Liyue rendering the usual roads near impassable for the foreseeable future. And so for a while, she heard nothing of her acquaintance and his curious little experiments, dedicating most of her time to overseeing the relief work in the regions adjacent to the northern parts Liyue. She did not forget about him, however, and thought of him occasionally when her sight fell on the flowering glaze lily in her sunroom.
The next letter arrived from Inazuma. It came with merchants that had traveled along the deep tunnel under the sea. With just a brief disappointment that she tried not to acknowledge, she found no new specimen enclosed.
“Your feedback was most insightful. I have theorized that the glaze lily might react differently when sheltered below the earth. It has refused to open up on the Moon, you see, which is most likely due to the ever present sunlight overstimulating its cells. My lovely sister has complained about it, once or twice, and now I can finally prove that my glaze lilies are not, in fact, a defect product. You have my thanks for assisting me in this study.”
She did not realize she was smiling until a servant came in carrying her tea. Beshamed, she waited until the servant had finished setting up the table.
“Come to think of it, this has to be the first time that I have mentioned my sister. People don’t talk much of her, admittedly, and she is more of a reclusive type. Never attends the Tsaritza’s balls, although I have noticed her frequenting the private tea parties hosted by some of my female colleagues. You and her would surely get along. That is what she asks that I tell you, and additionally, that you will find enclosed a little gift that she insisted I pass on her behalf.”
There was indeed a smaller envelope hidden inside the first, which she unwrapped with bated breath. She found a silk little sachet, and inside it was a moonstone, framed in gold and hanging from a daintily crafted chain. Pleased to have gained this unknown young lady’s favor, Lumine got up and held it against her chest in front of the mirror. Then, in a fit of sudden passion, she went about raiding her own jewelry box.
Some minutes later, she found herself staring at the entire pride of her precious kingdom. Pink crystal earrings glimmered prettily under the light of her table lamp; beside them lay an array of amethyst necklaces, and other precious stones encased in silver and gold. She settled back, realizing the problem: for she knew very little of this lady’s taste! She had heard of her once or twice, people remarking on her beauty, and equally pointing out the seemingly indifferent attitude to all matters that stirred the Tsaritza’s court. But what did she look like? And what did she like?
After some heavy pondering, Lumine managed to conjure up a picture of a woman similar to that man, except perhaps a little less tall, and all the more lovely. But who said, indeed, that they looked the same? For all she knew, the rightful daughter and the illegitimate son could look as different as the sun and moon. Finding little use in speculating, she picked an opal brooch, and sent for a servant to prepare a worthy case. After that, she eagerly sat down, selecting her best paper.
With the Inazuman islands quite a distance away from the capital, it was of little surprise that an entire month passed before she got the reply.
“You have requested of me, in your previous letter, that I tell you more about my sister. You must wonder why she refuses to write you herself. However, there is no other way, presently, but for me to correspond on her behalf. You will understand at once, once the two of you meet. Does this statement surprise you? Despite my earlier words, describing her as a rather recluse sort of girl, I can attest that she would most eagerly welcome your company. Perhaps, if you would be interested in—”
“Your Highness!”
Lumine jolted upright, guiltily slipping the letter below a stack of others. With the evidence gone, she finally turned to where a servant was frantically panting against the door frame. “Yes? What is it?”
“It’s His Majesty! He has been…! He……!”
His Majesty, as Sir Dainsleif told her in a strained yet more or less composed tone shortly after, has been wounded by the Abyss during one of his outings.
The drastic change left little time for her daily pleasures.
By day, she dutifully attended official events, presided over the court, and overall attempted to uphold the fragile impression that the king had merely collapsed under stress. Come evening, she attended her brother’s side. There was not much to be done there, except for holding his hand. At night, after the long evening of futile spying for signs of improvement, she returned to her chambers; desolate, broken, and the door outside now guarded by the double number of knights.
One hour, exactly, she had to herself. Desperate for distraction, she began to reread some letters. Her friends came first, followed by close acquaintances; then, guiltily and remembering her brother’s dissent, she reached for the silvery stack of sheets that she kept well hidden below the desk. And then she froze, considering.
Her situation was utter madness. The physician claimed there was no cure. But what if she asked a madman for help? Or if anything, for his opinion on the matter?
“They do call him the Doctor,” she murmured, quickly procuring some paper and pen.
The parcel arrived with the unsuspecting merchants carrying coffee and the usual selection of spices and perfumes from Sumeru. The bottle was wrapped in several protective layers of paper and straw, and sealed with wax. Enclosed were instructions, written in already familiar handwriting. She skimmed through them briefly, before opening the actual letter.
“I hope this letter finds you well. The medicine has been prepared and tested rigorously, to exclude unpleasant side effects and the like. The instructions should be clear to any honest practitioner of medicine. As for the price, do not think much of it yet. I shall collect what is due once your dear friend is back to health.”
With unsteady hands, she inspected the vial. Therein, possibly, lay her brother’s salvation. A shaky breath was all she permitted herself, before calling upon the court physician. In most general terms, she informed him of having received some medicine through a good acquaintance, after which she requested that he and his colleagues promptly inspect the substance and, if all is well, administer it to the king.
Half an hour of strenuous questions and doubtful exclamations later, she managed to send him off with a promise to do his utmost and more. At last, her chambers were quiet. With a staggering breath, Lumine collapsed onto the nearest armchair, her face falling onto her palms. The letter lay beside her—a proof of what she’d done. A constant reminder of a costly promise. Yet, had she had any other choice? Even if she had gone to the Tsaritza, or even the erudite Lord Kusanali herself, she doubted that she could have easily explained her urgency, without giving away a political secret.
“Too late for regrets,” she mumbled. Then she rose, making up her mind to spend the remaining time by her brother’s side.
In a mere month, King Aether was back to health. His previously purplish skin had taken on a healthy hue, without a single trace of his sickness remaining. When he appeared before his people at the next public event, not even the most discerning onlookers could have suspected him of wasting away mere weeks earlier, without a hope for a cure.
It was a miracle. The cost yet unknown.
Except for Lumine’s guilty conscience, it appeared almost as if all things had returned to normal: the secretaries and nobles that had kissed her feet for the past month or so, had promptly and unquestioningly flitted over to her brother’s side. The court quickly forgot her existence, except for the usual parties and other such trifle meetings. The joint breakfasts continued as usual, with the exception of her anxiety at every envelope that passed her brother’s hands. But weeks went by, and the Doctor’s letter never came.
Until one morning.
On a sudden whim, she decided to have her breakfast in her sunroom. There, she sat leisurely behind her little table, and propped her cheek as she regarded her collection of plants with pride. Some had grown nicely, and others had multiplied, with expectation to be repotted sooner than later. All looked healthy, and filled her heart with joy.
“A letter for you,” the servant said, approaching her table with a tablet heavy with mail. She jerked, noticing the familiar envelope. With a racing heart, she picked it up and stared at it pensively. When the servant did not leave, she tilted her head. “Anything else?”
“His Majesty wishes to remind Your Highness of the National Foundation Day, and the respective ball that is to take place thereafter.” The servant paused, then added in a less comfortable tone, “His Majesty also desires to know if Your Highness intends to select a suitor.”
Lumine blinked, the letter forgotten. “His Majesty, or the council?”
“…the council, Your Highness. Specifically, the minister of foreign affairs.”
She fought for composure, disgust filling her chest. Yet, at the very least the veiled order to marry had not come from her brother! They must be restless, and seeking allies to secure the country after what has happened to Aether. Still, this is entirely too sudden!
The news threw her off balance, and for a while after the servant was gone, all she could do was ruminate upon her ill fate. Then, with a start, she recalled the letter. “I don’t suppose things can get any worse than they already are,” she mused out loud, at last daring to break the seal. A minute later, she set it carefully on the table, and stared with an empty gaze at her plant shelves. “Well,” she muttered. “I suppose… this much, I can arrange without causing an uproar.”
The day of the ball arrived far sooner that she would have liked it, and found her sitting in her dressing room, with a request to be left alone.
Lumine was stalling.
This was unusual for her, who had always known her duty, and had done as she must, without so much as a word of protest. Never before had she besmirched her country’s pride with a belated entrance. She did not dare making a new habit of it, either.
Even so, she was stalling. She checked the straps of her dress, making sure it stayed on as firmly as the dressmaker had promised, and switched the set of jewels twice or thrice until returning to her original choice. She got up from her dressing table and went through the silk shawls that her serving ladies had preselected for her inspection. The shawl her eye fell upon was a pure white, with crystals dotting the intricate lace. It pooled carefully over the cool skin of her back. She frowned at her reflection. “They must have bribed my serving ladies to bring me only the best dress. Now I look like a perfect, sacrificial lamb…” She did not call for her serving ladies, however, and made no move to change the dress.
Instead, she opened a drawer, searching for a pin to fasten the shawl. This she did with deliberate meticulousness, laying out all the pieces that she owned. In the process, her gaze fell on a silvery envelope that, to avoid the serving ladies’s curious glances, she had hidden below her jewel case. Picking it up, she turned it over, her eyes skimming selected lines.
“You will look exquisite, I am certain. Just like that time, at Midwinter Ball.”
He had not written much in response. Nothing of certainty, in any case, except for the usual greetings from his sister. This fact alone sent her nerves ablaze. Had she misread his intentions? Or was he simply being careful with his words, knowing the letter could just as easily fall into the wrong hands, and reach eyes that it was hardly intended for?
“To our continued friendship. Sincerely yours—”
She hid the letter. At the same time, her mind conjured up her brother’s disappointed expression, but the image paled in comparison to the grim thoughts of the council—of what it intended to use her for. Word had leaked out, naturally, of her brother’s illness. She knew it eventually would. Too many servants knew, too many guards talked, be it through monetary gain, or simple pressure.
People were restless. Securing an ally was at the forefront of the council’s mind.
All on its own, her hand moved to the moonstone brooch. Then, she picked her favorite lipstick. This was a spontaneous decision, which she held off for the last minute. She had gotten many compliments when she wore it at parties, which was the main reason why she hadn’t wanted to use it tonight. But it felt like a waste, suddenly, to forgo it.
I’ll have the council think that I did it for them.
With this settled, she took out a little envelope, and tucked it inconspicuously in a crevice between the mirror glass and the wooden frame. As of now, she was uncertain whether she wanted it to be found, or not. But there was little point in musing.
She practiced her smile, not at all certain how the night would end, but not wanting this lack of foresight to ruin what little appreciation she felt at her sight.
Her looks collected its due share of approving glances from the council members when she entered the upper balcony. A few approached her, making use of the opportunity when her brother’s gaze was directed on the foreign dignitaries, only to insinuate, in more or less plain words, that they had high hopes for this ball. She placated them with a practiced smile. At last spying an open slot, she promptly gravitated to her brother’s side.
She liked the look he gave her; his earnest compliment was all the more precious when lips turned down a little, betraying his anxiety at the council member’s schemes. “Are you well? They—” His eyes flitted meaningfully to few zealous figures hovering just a few meters away.
“I am fine.” She was not. They gazed at each other, and it felt, for some odd reason, like this was the last time they would share a precious moment such as this.
“I can’t be your first dance partner,” he said, regretful.
“That’s fine. It’s not like they’re going to sell me off to the first that asks me.” She attempted a cheerful tone, but it didn’t come out quite right. Guilt pierced her, as she had still not spoken to him about his miraculous recovery. He appeared to sense at least some of it in her hesitant gaze.
“I’m sorry. I have been careless, during that time. We have always assumed that the Abyss has grown weak, that it would pose no more trouble, and so—” A breath staggered past his lips. “No, never mind. What’s done is done, and what matters is that I am in perfect health now. The public needs not worry. Our defenses are as strong as ever. What happened was an accident, is all, and I intend to fix it. In fact, I already have Sir Dainsleif on the case. Whoever has instigated this idea of marrying you off—”
But it is too late, is it not?
Her courtly smile broke him off. “Thank you. I shall go and greet the guests now.” Then, something occurred to her as she already made a half-turn for the staircase. In a familiar gesture, she stretched her hand, brushing it against his. “Tonight… whatever happens, regardless of what you see and whether or not it confuses or disappoints you… My only request is that you don’t interfere. This is my battle to fight.”
She took to the parade staircase. Her mind was now blissfully void of that lingering voice that had blamed him for being careless. Speaking to him has given her strength she needed, and she left while loving him as fiercely as ever before.
The great hall was brimming with voices. All of Teyvat appeared to have gathered under the luminous light of hundreds of crystal chandeliers, mingling about the floor made of mirroring marble. The guests drank and laughed, and sometimes stole glances at the balcony where the king sat, commenting on his good spirits and healthy pallor. Sir Dainsleif had volunteered to escort her down, and now stopped obediently as she paused mid-way, surveying the crowd.
He was easy to spot. Despite the considerable number of Snezhnayan dignitaries, there was a painfully large and empty space surrounding the spot where he was casually leaning against the wall beside one of the balconies’ entrances. From his colleagues’ hesitant glances, she knew that none of them had expected his attendance. To their relief, however, he appeared not the least interested in their thoughts or worries, or even their presence. Instead, his masked face was unmistakably looking at her.
She swallowed. A safe distance had separated them during their cordial exchange of letters, but now he was there, in person; and she was reminded, at once, that he was real and present, and she could not simply put him aside.
Sir Dainsleif left reluctantly, wanted back by the king’s side. He, too, had noticed the Doctor’s presence, a fact that had worsened his mood. She knew without asking that he would instantly tell her brother, and pitied him, because his well meant efforts would not change a thing. Amidst her pondering, the minister of foreign affairs’ wife intercepted her sight. “Your Highness,” she said, approaching her with all the importance of an elder woman that thought to know what was better for every younger girl in the room, “if I may introduce you to a good acquaintance?”
“But of course.”
A whole new challenge awaited Lumine after this forcibly extracted assent. She was guided through what felt like half of the attendance list. Names flashed over her mind, none of which she bothered much to remember. Her task was to smile, and smile she did, greeting the Lawrences and the Kamisatos, the Lords So-and-So and even Chiefs of the Tribe This-and-That, and all the other faces that the minister’s wife had singled out as exceptional candidates in need of a wife.
After about an hour of such tedious greetings, her head spun, and her empty stomach felt sick. With some effort, she managed to utter something about needing a moment in her dressing room. Her excuse was graciously accepted, and recommendations given on fixing her shawl and hairdo. Not wanting to delay her well deserved respite for a fitting retort, Lumine all but fled the hall.
Her private dressing room was within a walking minute down the corridor. It had thick walls, so that she barely heard anything of the crowd in the hall. Per her request, s servant brought refreshments and snacks. Her break, unfortunately, only amounted to twenty minutes or so, until a friend of the minister’s wife knocked dutifully, inquiring about her well-being, as well as informing her that she was being missed and that she must absolutely not skip the dancing.
The break had done her good, nonetheless, and Lumine left with resolve to fight. No longer wanting to be paraded around by some patronizing old woman, she gave herself to the tedious task of greeting the remaining guests regardless of their suitability for marriage, and doing it so passionately that eventually she managed to shake off the minister’s wife. The Doctor remained a persistently black speck in the corner of her vision, until at last she had greeted the last of the Tsaritza’s people.
“How awfully busy you are, princess,” he remarked. There was a silvery ring to his voice that, oddly, put her on edge.
She mustered his face, wishing that he was not wearing a mask. How much easier their communication had been, when they had only been exchanging letters! She had imagined awkwardness during their second physical encounter. But certainly not a scene like this, when she felt very much like a mouse that had barely escaped a fox’s den, only to land straight in a bird’s greedy clutches. It did not help that he had donned on the same cloak that he had fancied wearing to the Midwinter Ball, with dark fur somehow looking more like feathers than a mammal’s hide.
He looked handsome, however.
Suddenly, he took a glass from a passing servant, and gallantly offered it for her to take. She took it, the glass hovering some millimeters away from her lips. “Your letter mentioned that this invitation would be the first of three favors,” she said, taking a cautious sip.
“You understood correctly.”
She blinked, flabbergasted at his curt reply. As she thought, something was wrong. Something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on yet. Had she made a mistake? But she had procured him an invitation, exactly as he had asked! “Why three, though?” she said, seeking to fill the forced silence between them.
He tilted his head, ever so subtly. Like a curious bird, inspecting its prey. Then, as if by purposeful will, some tension fell off his lips, and his next words suddenly flowed with the same ease that she had been accustomed to. “Mere artistic choice, I assure you. Do you not like the number of three? We can make it seven, if that is what you prefer.”
“Three is fine!” she sputtered. Was this truly the man with whom she had exchanged—dare she say it—some rather civil letters? “And I would like to ask that you do not toy with me, Doctor.”
“I am very serious, I assure you.”
Lumine blinked. For a lack of other points of reference, her gaze was once more drawn to his lips. He wore a smile, now. And her life-long experience in the matters of the court told her exactly what sort of flavor it carried.
Displeasure and anger.
Realization took her by surprise, so much so that she missed a part of his speech.
“—and I would gladly make it seven, if I only could. But for now, as you say, let us keep it at three. Ah, and here is the cue for the second favor.”
She tensed, looking subtly about. A part of her feared what he would say next—the same part that had recognized the dangerous quality of his smile. But the only thing that had changed was the orchestra that now filled the previously empty niche. The instruments started up, and music began to flow, splitting the crowd so that one part of it formed pairs and took to the center. Her gaze dated to the king’s balcony, briefly catching her brother’s gaze, then glazing over the ministers that looked at her with certain expectations.
The Doctor’s hand cut her sight. It was dressed in a noble shade of dark blue velvet. On top of his glove were three silver rings, which made for an elegant, albeit somewhat flashy sight. The rings carried moonstones, in three different shades. “A dance, my princess?”
“The first dance?” She raised a brow in half-surprise. Unable to help herself, she intercepted some of the council member’s gazes. The minister’s wife was among them, but she was some good distance away, and could do nothing but watch in startled displeasure. Stationed near the throne, Sir Dainsleif also looked none too pleased, as did several guests that held her acquaintance, and were remotely informed of the Doctor’s notoriety as an exceptionally eccentric man.
“But of course, princess. Why would I wait for the second?”
She swallowed, sending a quiet apology to her brother, but not daring to see what expression he made. “Consider the second favor granted.” Her hand joined his, now well secured. It’s just a dance. Just my first dance. Nothing, in short, to worry about. Now, if I could somehow figure out the remaining favor…! Oh, I dare hope it is as harmless as the first.
Distracted by her worried thoughts, she barely noticed it when they found themselves in the very middle of the floor. She felt the hotness of the curious glances of the other couples, and, some distance away, the wave of disapproval that traveled over the court. Her stomach clenched.
Their queer looks seared her sides and back. But her front was safe.
As if having spied on that very thought, her partner drew her just a little closer than royal etiquette permitted—enough for her to notice, but not so much that others would see. Behind his mask, at last, she saw a flash of his eye. “Don’t you think that we make good partners,” he drawled, “you and I?”
They were dancing now, along with the rest, but somehow isolated all the same. “I cannot fathom why you would think so,” she said. The feeling caused by court’s disapproval was entirely new to her, and she did not know what to think of it yet.
“Truly? Yet I do believe you are smarter than that.”
She bristled, the stress and confusion desperate for an outlet. “I’ve done my duty! I have procured you an invitation to this ball, and I have agreed to give you my first dance. The last favor— I would like to hear it, before…” she trailed off, glancing sideways, noticing that he copied her motion.
“Before your people proclaim you a traitor?”
She glanced up, eyes sharp. “If you aware, then why…?”
“Surely, you cannot pretend to be oblivious, now.”
Mid-step, he stopped them. Miraculously, the other couples managed to evade them. This, too, was a breech of etiquette, though it did not appear as though he seemed to care. He reached out, picking up one of her side locks, brushing it between his clothed fingers, as if assessing its quality and finding it entirely to his liking. “I shall repeat myself, then. They may not know it, but you and I would make a good pair.” Then, in a gesture that was bound to cause some elder council members to faint, he tucked it deftly behind her now reddening ear. “Aren’t you tired of these silly nobles? Of the way they treat you like an unwanted spare, when you had sacrificed your dignity to save your brother?”
Her eyes snapped open, face draining of blood. He seized the crack in her composure, but oddly, the following words were far from she had feared to hear.
“The Tsaritza heard nothing of my deductions, of course, despite me being fairly certain of your poor friend’s nature when I received your urgent plea. Yet, you should know that it was not without a certain dose of disappointment that I had read your letter. I had thought, you see, that we were long past the stage of secrets and formalities. But then again, I can hardly blame you, what with the politics in the way. And now, look where all this has brought you, despite doing your best to keep your precious lips shut?”
She took a desperate breath. His words reopened a wound that was just beginning to form a crust. Or perhaps she had been mistaken, and it had not even started to heal at all. He made a sound, as if satisfied with his handiwork. “Well, while we are on the subject of politics and the like.”
Her eyes refocused. “The third favor, I presume?”
“Indeed.” In a sudden motion, his hand gripped her waist. A jolt ran down her spine. She wondered, foolishly, if anyone had noticed, but her worry paled in the face of his last request. “As someone who has spent several, terribly long nights to grant your plea, I believe that I rightfully deserve some gratitude—in its purest form.”
Hot and cold waves washed over her face as she caught on to his meaning. Her voice came out feebly when at last she found it. “Right here?”
“For my rivals and your brother to see.”
“But I don’t have anyone—” she staggered. Then, at last, connected the dots behind his mysterious displeasure. “I am not being courted at the moment, is what I wanted to say.”
“Oh, really? That is… almost disappointing to hear.”
She flushed.
Some moment was spent with a content of staring. Then, steeling herself, she willed her mind empty as she went about to grant that last favor she owed.
It felt like a sin at first; snaking her arms around his neck, doing something so unimaginably scandalous before the court’s eyes. But she was halfway there, and then some more, and suddenly, the gesture began to feel right. The fur was foreign and soft. Part of her mind, wanting distraction, wondered what sort of creature it had belonged to. The other stared busily at his neckcloth, which was fastened carefully with a moonstone, similar in size to the brooch that she wore. The part of her that mediated between her conscious and subconscious noted, also, that he wore a perfume. She had not noticed it earlier, but she did, now. It was a complex, foreign mixture that she could not even begin to discern.
The fragrance took root in her nostrils, and suddenly, she could not imagine anything better than wanting more.
The court will assassinate me. I will die.
Their onlooker’s disapproval was like a slow yet potent toxin. It filled her veins, setting them ablaze, and making her knees weak and soft.
Perhaps I’m already dead.
She pressed her lips to his, annoyed at first when she realized that she’d missed them by a centimeter or so, and quickly rectifying her mistake. Lest he complains, a part of her reasoned. All the more, she was taken aback when she pried off, and saw—instead of the cool praise that she had anticipated—that his lips were parted and frozen. “Um, was I not supposed to…?” Surely, she could not have misinterpreted his message that badly? Or if so, what else had he expected her to grant?
But then his mouth snapped shut, regaining his composure. “Apologies. This was a minor miscalculation on my part.”
She tilted her head. When she attempted to move her arms away, he reached out and locked them so they stayed where they were. “I did not think you would do it. But now, I feel that I owe a reward for the extra effort.”
His grip left with little else to do but stare at his lips, that now looked like they’d been smeared in blood. She heard sounds of footsteps enclosing, but they sounded so far away, and certainly appeared not urgent enough to warrant averting her eyes from his maddeningly grotesque, yet oddly tantalizing sight. “I get favor?”
The lips smiled. “Anything that I am able to give, which is certainly more than any of these silly nobles combined can offer.”
She did not need to think twice. After all, she had long since decided.“In that case… I need a doctor,” she said, to his delight.