[ Will does not usually swear, but he is cursing in his mind as he realizes that the plan has now completely fallen apart.
From the very outset, nothing worked out as it should have. Strohl was only able to hold Louis's attention for a scant few minutes rather than the full half-hour they'd initially planned around. Will tried to excuse himself as quickly as possible, but had found his path blocked by Glodell, who seemed intent on starting a fight with him at the soiree. Hulkenberg had tried to intervene, engaging the man on the basis of tribal similarities, but this only seemed to further infuriate Glodell, who apparently has some sort of complex around not being the typical strapping "knife-eared" male. Even then, Will had ducked away from the bickering roussaintes, only to find himself held in place by a raucous Glechom, who for some reason (perhaps because of their engagement over the keys?) seemed to recognize him as a friend through a drunken stupor. And then, as soon as Will had managed to extricate himself from that situation —
The crowd parts, and Louis Guiabern walks toward him, one hand extended in an invitation to dance.
For a moment, Will doubts his ears.
The orchestra players continue to draw their bows along their instruments, pouring out their lilting melodies, and the longer that Will waits to respond to Louis, the more the crowd murmurs unrest. There's no saving it, their Captain decides in the blink of an eye; the plan is ruined. After this stunt, there's no way he'll be able to leave the soiree in peace. All eyes will be on him until the end of the night.
"Take Heismay," he whispers to Gallica, trusting her to execute the rest of the plan, before he turns to Louis, and instinctively presses his hand into the man's palm.
He regrets doing so almost immediately. He hasn't even thought of what to say, but appeasing the man's whims seems to be more important in the moment. One does not simply say no to Louis Guiabern, and Will feels maddeningly distracted by the thought that Louis's hand is impossibly bigger than his own.
What does he say? What could he possibly say in this situation? The act snaps into place before he's even thought about it. Sometimes Will finds it so unbearably easy to pretend to be someone else that it scares him. Wilhelm the loyal follower of Count Louis Guiabern would surely say something like this: ]
...I fear myself unworthy of this honor, Lord Louis.
[ And yet his hand is in the count's; and yet he has accepted the invitation. And yet he looks up shyly at Louis's handsome face through thick dark lashes, and then looks down again, as if to affect a demure chasteness. Intoxicatingly innocent, but seductive, too, in how deliberate it is.
The whispers from the soldiers have already begun to reach his ears.
"Hey... the elda boy? Really?"
"What about Lady Junah?"
"Heard she's out sick tonight."
"So his Lordship gets his new boytoy to entertain him for the evening? Bold as brass, like."
I've already told you that you've impressed me with your bold stunt. If not you, would you rather I select someone else?
[ The elegant fingers around Wilhelm's firm, not unlike a bear trap snaring prey by an ankle. Wilhelm's hand seems a slender, delicate thing in Louis' grasp, even hidden beneath those gloves he's rarely seen without. Only the briefest moment of hesitation before his placid acceptance—but then again, were he less observant and cognizant of the attention on him, perhaps he would not have known how to manipulate the crowd's attention so, back when he and his allies brought the sanctoress before everyone.
Louis cares little for the whispers. The crowd remains parted, so he takes the opportunity to lead his partner through the offered path to the vacant dance floor. After he takes the first dance, others will soon follow and join them on the floor, some to get a closer look and others to continue making merry. His steps remain measured—perhaps a little more so than usual, to help account for Wilhelm's smaller stride.
For just a moment, Wilhelm had looked up at him, then away again, with an unusual demureness. It wasn't an unpleasant expression. But would this kind of personality have produced the spectacle that Wilhelm delivered those weeks ago? That was the type of audacity that spoke of a more tenacious sort of resolve.
A boy of more than one face, then. Which is his truest one?
The orchestra has eased into the swells of a grander piece now, strings crooning in the background. They've set a tempo appropriate for a classic waltz. Louis releases Wilhelm's hand for just a moment with a whisper of fabric, glove crinkling slightly, and gives a courteous bow per ballroom etiquette—cursory, only a light dip of his proud head, but the fact he does it at all elicits another flurry of whispers. It has been a long time since he'd deigned to dance at an event, after ascending far enough up the ranks that he no longer needed to bother with such trifles.
Still, it has been an even longer time since there was another elda in the city besides him—and one of rising prominence, at that.
With only a slight quirk of his mouth, Louis fixes his eyes on Wilhelm's, surveying those odd eyes of his, one gold, one the shade of the sky itself. Nostalgic, somehow. Almost familiar. ]
[ Will falters, but his body is already beginning to settle into the proper posture; he greets Louis with a bow of his own, deeper, more reverent. And yet, the very fact that he knows this etiquette at all is confusing to him. Why does he know this? Why would a commoner know how to waltz? When would he have been taught? Was there a time when he danced with the prince? That would make sense, but he can't recall ever doing so, and what is distracting him is that he can hear others murmuring about the same thing.
"Think the elda knows how to dance?"
"You'd think the count would've asked one of the nobles in attendance..."
"There couldn't be a more mismatched pair..."
"You think? I think they look good together..."
Feeling a bit incensed at the whispers in the crowd, though they're no worse than anything that was said to him the first time he stepped into Sunshade Row, Will straightens a little and slides into Louis's embrace. If nothing else, he must approach this the way he approaches anything else: with diligence, and an eye for the future. If Heismay and Gallica are on their way to Louis's room, it's his job to entertain the man. He might even be able to win himself more of Louis's favor in the process. ]
I think so, yes. Pray forgive me if I make any mistakes.
[ Calmly, he settles his hand on Louis's upper back, allowing Louis to rest his hand on Will's lower back in turn. That same distracted part of the youg man's brain notes that Louis's waist is smaller than his shoulders would suggest; his uniform has been so neatly tailored to his frame that it almost seems as though he's wearing a corset. Will can barely meet the man's long-lashed green gaze. Louis seems to be searching for something in his own mismatched eyes, and Will is half-afraid of what he might be seeking, because he suspects that he would not be able to refuse if asked for it.
Ostensibly, as a man, Will should have been taught the leading role, but he finds himself settling into the role of the leaded partner with surprising ease. Maybe it was with the prince, then...? But then, why doesn't he remember such a thing happening?
(Once upon his time, his royal tutor had him learn the lady's part in preparation of being a better dance partner in the leading role. Young Wilhelm never much listened to such fluff, and in the end, he didn't have time to learn the rest.)
As tense as he is, Will tries to distract his brain with thoughts of levity. Lightly, he remarks — half a joke and half a comment — ]
...I would hate to step on your feet. Your shoes are always so clean.
[ It's a simple thing to take up the correct pose. Louis' hand glides to settle over the small of Wilhelm's back, gloved fingers grazing over the divot of his spine where his clothing is snug enough to give way from brief pressure. The young man feels small beneath Louis' palm, deceptively lithe, just enough muscle to give suggestion to the swordplay at his disposal. There's some tension as well, yes—but that's to be expected. ]
You will adapt quickly. Should you make a poor spectacle of yourself, my shoes would be the least of your concerns.
[ He takes Wilhelm's hand in his own, warmth meeting where their fingers touch. Louis' grip is a firm thing, the gravity of it as inescapable as his presence. It's not lost on him how readily the motions have come to Wilhelm so far, as though he is practiced in this. All the better. Louis sets an uncompromising pace, giving him the dignity of showcasing his skill without being covered for, and sweeps him around the dance floor in poised steps. ]
It seems you are full of ceaseless surprises. Most elda would have little use for the minutiae of ballroom etiquette in the capital.
[ Coming from anyone else, perhaps it would be an insult. Louis, for his part, only sounds pensive. Once, he had taken care to follow norms and customs in the capital diligently, to ensure he was above any criticism during his early rise through the army ranks. But after all that has happened, he no longer cares to appease the masses. If he dies for it, it would only prove he is every bit as weak and undeserving as the rest. There is little left for him to falter over anymore.
With only another bit of light pressure at Wilhelm's back as a cue, Louis moves to twirl him, their shifting shadows converging and parting along the beautiful marble flooring. Around them, despite themselves, the crowd burbles and murmurs; the more seconds that pass, the more some seem taken in.
"Ah... Lord Louis... I've not seen him dance in so long..."
"Ain't the elda not doing too shabby himself?"
"Maybe I should try to find a sanctoress' head to bring in next time too—"
"Don't be a fool. There's audacious, and there's stupid. The elda might've pulled it off, but you really think you can do the same?" ]
[ The faster, more demanding pace of Louis's dancing actually suits Will quite well. He follows less with conscious thought and more with instinct. He remembers — vague outlines of memories he should not have — always scolded me for being impatient, said that if I could dance slow then I could dance fast. But I didn't want to dance slow, even if it was just for practice. I always wanted to dance fast —
Louis's remark startles him from his thoughts. For a moment, Will falters, but Louis twirls him gently backwards, hiding his misstep; he watches the world turn around him, then sinks gently back into Louis's arms, anchored by the man's grip on his reality. ]
I... must have picked it up somewhere.
[ From the corner of Will's eye, he thinks he saw the flash of Strohl's yellow jacket near the bright red of Hulkenberg's hair, but he can't be certain, and he doesn't want to turn his head to look. Not when his eyes are locked on Louis's; not when the whole of his concentration is focused on the point where the "clemar's" hand is resting on his lower back, and where their hands are connected, joined in dance. Each time their bodies brush together, Will becomes all too aware of the man's physicality. He has such a large body, such long limbs... ]
...Perhaps I learned specifically because I did not wish to embarrass you at this soiree. [ Wouldn't that be a charming thing to think? He watches Louis's face closely for a reaction. ] Practicing at all hours in preparation for this crowd.
[ And what a crowd it is. A low wolf-whistle, a distant laugh. "Just getting closer, aye? Oh, Lady Junah's not going to like this."
"Churlish cur. Have you never had the chance to speak with her? She would love this."
"Can't just be them dancing, now! Someone else join in! Emile, you with me?"
"Ten reeve says the boy's in Louis's bed by the end of the night..." ]
[ The elda boy moves readily with each of Louis' steps, motions so automatic they must have been drilled in through sheer repetition, rote memory guiding him through the movements. So Wilhelm had done his due diligence and practiced indeed; there is no doubt about that. It's a pleasant thought. The corner of Louis' mouth curves ever so slightly, a reaction for Wilhelm's watchful gaze. ]
Quite calculating of you. You anticipated you would dance like this?
[ Just when Will might think there is a moment to respond, perhaps the breath is stolen straight from his throat. With another commanding step, their footfalls rhythmic against the backdrop of orchestral strings, the crescendo of music, the hand at Wilhelm's back shifts as though to let him fall. And just as he might relinquish himself to the motion or stumble trying to catch himself, Louis is leaning forward with him, his hold firming once more—it all gives way to an elegant dip that sends the feather-soft strands of Wilhelm's hair slipping from the way they usually frame his face to hang down, beckoned by gravity.
If not for the high collar of his coat, Wilhelm's throat would have been left bare.
The corners of Louis' eyes crinkle ever so slightly. What this means for Wilhelm, he'll have to gauge himself. ]
The boldness that brought you forward to present the sanctoress to claim my esteem—is it the same that would have driven you to ask for a dance, had I not done so first?
[ The way they stand casts a shadow across Wilhelm's face as the flutter of Louis' hair grazes him. They are close enough that he is the only one who can hear what Louis has just said, especially as the crowd burbles on around them and the dance floor has filled with more pairs, some of them clumsier with drink in their stomachs than others, enough to afford them a touch more privacy. ]
[ Louis dips him downward, and the room upends itself.
For a moment, Will sees only the ceiling, and Louis's impossibly beautiful face, illuminated by a bright white halo from the lights above. The thing about being dipped, he realizes suddenly, is that it requires such complete surrender; the whole of his weight is borne in Louis's hand right now, but that hand feels so large, splayed out against his back, that it nearly takes Will's breath away. He's always near fully covered, but a sliver of extra skin peeks out from under his scarf; for an impossible moment, Will swears he can feel Louis's gaze trailing over his neck. ]
Perhaps I would have...
[ The music picks up again; Will is pulled up as the beat demands, but as he recovers, he places one hand along the side of Louis's face, drawing himself in, his mouth nearly close enough to brush against the general's in a kiss. They're more obscured by other dancers on the floor now, but even so, Will hears a distant tittering gasp. He pushes it out of his mind; whatever issues Junah may have with him later, if any, are not to be considered now. If fate has decreed that he must take the role of the distraction in tonight's plan, then he is going to carry it through. ]
Perhaps I've wanted more than your esteem.
[ Maybe this is a step too far. Will does think that, but he only has a few seconds to execute his strategy as he's crafting it. Maybe the seduction is too far. But what does it matter? He would sacrifice anything for his prince. ]
[ Louis lets himself look, taking in the softness of Wilhelm's lips not far from his own, the vibration of his soft laugh a brand against the boy where they press together again. But he does not quite close the gap. His own exhale drifts over Wilhelm's mouth—their lips nearly brush as he speaks, maddeningly close. ]
I am not one to seek fawning sycophants. If it is daring that has driven you this far, then it becomes you to draw upon that strength.
[ Louis' grip tightens the slightest fraction around Wilhelm's slender hand. The strength he wishes to see hasn't been in plain sight. By this point, Wilhelm and his allies have felled multiple humans by that seemingly lost power of Archetypes. What would it be like to strip away the pretenses donned and witness Wilhelm at the pinnacle of his strength? Would he be bold and wild, effortlessly fierce? Or would he be nearly on the brink of offering himself anyway, sweet and docile, as he is now?
It's the promise of possibilities—the unpredictability of it all—that holds Louis' attention, curious for what might happen next.
The current song has started to reach its end, the notes trailing toward a lull. The orchestra begins its next piece. Everything that people know of Louis Guiabern is steeped in utter irreverence and shameless confidence. Is it so unexpected, then, that he keeps his hold on Wilhelm and whirls the boy into the steps of a second dance, in lieu of selecting a new partner?
In this wasteland of those who seek him, worship him, wish to use him, there's something to be said of an anomaly who presents a different sort of prize. How far would Wilhelm go to impress him? Is it a sleight of hand he will present next, a stroke of genius? Or a truer challenge? Louis cares not for the risks. No matter what machination is hidden behind the curtain, he will best it—he will conquer it. ]
If you wish for more, you will have to earn it. Prove to me you are worthy of more than my esteem.
[ More, Louis demands, in the way that he always demands more. Earn my interest. Always so hungry, always so self-assured of his own value, his own worth.
It makes Will bristle, just the barest bit. He is not a man who is wont to anger, but it frustrates him somewhat, to have to appease someone so demanding, when he, so often the least demanding in a room, finds himself regularly downtrodden and dismissed. (He does not know what he does not know; he will know later that Louis knows all too well what it is like to be hated for something that you cannot change about yourself.) He can't stand it — the idea of being asked for more by a man who, to all outward eyes, already has everything.
So infuriating.
And yet — so hot.
The last song ending and a new song beginning gives Will an opportunity to strike. In the lull between notes, as they stand partly obscured by other couples beginning to enter the dance floor — some couples, noblemen with their ladies, and other couples, Louis's tipsy soldiers, some having a laugh, and others quite earnest — Will puts his hand on Louis's lower back, and lifts his hand — ]
You are such —
[ He steps forward as the first notes ring out, smoothly and boldly stealing the lead from Louis — ]
— a demanding man.
[ They turn; they twirl. He has Louis on his back foot now, though only the most observant in the crowd would notice. They've half-blended into the crowd, but their white clothes help them stick out, keep all eyes on them.
"Say, is that the younger Magnus brother, there?"
"Almost looks like him, but no, that's some other paripus. Basilio's got waves to his hair."
"Aww, where did Lord Louis go? I was hoping he'd see me in my dress!"
"Don't think a dress will help you much, the way he's staring that elda boy down..."
"The elda would look nice in a dress, though, don't you think?"
"You got somethin' you need to tell me, mate?"
"I say, did they switch things up?"
"Aye, where's Glechom? Bugger 'im, 'e owes me four thousand quid!"
Will ignores the chaos around them. Focuses on his steps, and the swaying of the beat, and the amount of precision he needs to guide Louis's larger body around the dance floor. He tries not to be distracted by the glimpse of Strohl he thinks he saw in the crowd, pale and nervous and looking as though he'd been stricken by his worst nightmares come to life. He keeps his eyes on Louis, and the mad intensity in his eyes, framed so strikingly by dark lashes. ]
Does this please you? [ Will's voice is low, heated. Even a little dangerous. ] Should I push you harder?
[ And there it is: first a subtle thing, like the gossamer flutter of a butterfly's wings—a tiny gust turned silent storm, all converging in the gleam of the boy's eyes. Something not unlike a smile curls at the corners of Louis' mouth as he lets Wilhelm take the lead, gracefully settling into the cadence set by each of Wilhelm's steps. Like this, the boy seems more practiced than he initially gave the impression of being, as though the motions have transcended recent practice and become something more rote. Flocked by flurries of swirling coats and skirts, the two of them glide easily with the throngs of dancers.
It's flawless. Not a single real misstep.
And all the while, there's a tempest in Wilhelm's eyes. Louis does not look away from him at all now, nor does he pay any attention to the chatter around them. ]
And if I were to say it does?
[ There's amusement in his gaze, laced with something else—a deeper satisfaction now at having torn the veneer of the quiet, unassuming demeanor Wilhelm had played at having. ]
Those who have carved a place for themselves in this world are wont to make demands of it. [ He says it easily, as though it is a fact of life. ] It is the masses who clamor to meet such demands, seeking favors to elevate themselves. And just as easily as they offer their gilded promises, so too do they turn.
[ Louis' eyelids lower to half-mast. His gaze turns thoughtful, considering, and not a fraction less sharp. ]
You are not one so easily led. And every challenge you have been presented with, you have faced without qualms.
[ It isn't beyond him that what Wilhelm seeks lies beyond his respect, beyond the implications of their conversation. For a moment, he considers what it would be like if Wilhelm had truly come to him for the reason he had presented so earnestly in the beginning—if someone who so unabashedly let the world witness who he was, without shying away, like a beacon searing through the putrid decay of this kingdom, indeed only yearned for his regard at the heart of things. The type of story spun of naive, idealistic dreams.
He is, of course, beyond such things now. ]
Shall I reward you for such nerve? You who claims he seeks only to help me... What manner of boon would you seek?
[ Will's heart is racing, syncopated against the beat of the music; it makes dancing harder, but still, he is keeping to the rhythm. He has to lie, he knows, but this is as much an opportunity as any that has been extended to him. What should he ask for? What will his friends think? What will bring him closer to the prince and the secret of his curse?
Will they all think worse of him, if they realize that he would lie if it brought him closer to the fulfillment of his mission?
Will thinks very quickly. He doesn't have time to wonder if what he wants to do is right. Half-victorious, half-panicking, he answers, without thinking and with too much thinking all at once: ]
It seems to me you ask this question because you doubt my loyalty, Lord Louis.
[ One, two, three; one, two, three. There is a kind of rhythmic pleasure, he finds, in being Louis's lead. The man may be a monster, but he is a pleasure to dance with. In another life, he thinks — in a more idyllic chapter of history, one less tumultuous as this one — Will half-imagines, for an inexplicable moment, that he would have liked to have been a young maiden swept off her feet by the illustrious Count Guiabern at a ball. ]
What do you think I would ask for?
[ He is returning a question with a question, which is something of a rhetorical cheap shot; partly, this is because he is trying to buy himself some time. Will wets his lips and swallows on a dry throat. ]
Power? Prestige?
[ A break in the music brings Will closer to the man's ear. Standing on tiptoe, aggressive despite their height differential, the elda boy whispers hot against Louis's eardrum: ]
[ A soft hum escapes Louis', something only a hair's breadth away from a sigh. Wilhelm's breath is hot against the shell of his ear, the boy only all the more captivating now that Louis flirts with the unyielding resolve that seems to trail his shadow, dog his steps. It's quiet enough, unprovoked. Even now, it is hardly the full silhouette of what it seems it could be.
What is it, then, that drives him? ]
I daresay you are not one swayed by such trifles.
[ Trifles, he says, as though the power and prestige so many have clawed their way through the mire for are but inconsequential matters. Louis, too, has felt the tread of another's boot upon his head before, back in the days he was younger, less secure in his position, so easily discarded and made to fight for his life by the borders. A sentence not unlike death, and he had slit throats and gutted people just to prove he had earned the privilege of drawing another breath and returning in bloodied glory. Power is the most universal, surefire language of this world—and even then, it carries warnings. ]
Power bequeathed by another's will alone is hollow, meaningless. If I granted you such things... Would that truly satisfy you?
[ Perhaps they both know the answer to that. The brief reprieve in the music drifts to an end. The instruments rise in a swell, strings crooning, and Louis is the one to draw Wilhelm into the next steps, gracefully taking back the lead. And yet, it is a gentler, more intimate touch that Louis grants him. A soft press of fingers to the small of the boy's back, the fingers of his other hand laced with Wilhelm's with a firmness not quite as domineering as it was. A shift too subtle for those around them to notice. ]
It seems far likelier you have your sights set higher. And if your vision matches mine, perhaps we are not so different, you and I.
[ His eyes flash, rippling with the gleam of some insatiable, inscrutable hunger. ]
[ Damn, Will thinks to himself. Not enough. He's too paranoid, Louis is, or maybe it's more that he's exactly as paranoid as a man in his position ought to be. Too careful, and too clever by half.
The young elda takes a breath, pressing the tips of his fingers lightly into Louis's lower back. He tries not to be distracted by the man's physicality; though he's the one taking the lead in this dance, he can't help but lose himself just slightly in the swaying rhythm of their steps, the sense that Louis's larger body could take power away from his at any moment.
He closes his eyes. For a moment, he lets himself feel the music, each thudding step, the soaring arc of the strings. Then he opens his eyes again, and, undaunted, stakes his claim. ]
...Give me access to your personal library.
[ His eyes betray no trace of doubt now as he gazes into Louis's brilliant irises and turns him gently towards another corner of the ballroom. ]
Surely you have something like that? [ Confident, he sinks his teeth in still further: ] I want to come and go from it as I please.
[ Inwardly, of course, Will is sweating. But Gallica said something like this, didn't she? That Junah exited Louis's personal quarters with a book? Even if she and the Count are paramours, surely Will can be afforded the same privilege...? ]
[ The pleasure of this lies in seeing what angle Wilhelm takes in his approach, how he responds under pressure. Whether there are truths to be unraveled from his tongue, and whether he will simply seek that which others so typically ask of Louis. Another test to match the many Louis has already carelessly tossed his way, because one does not survive in this position without constantly taking measure of others.
For someone who shouldn't have such finesse in this type of dance, Wilhelm is performing superbly, to the point that the initial murmurs of contention and consternation have died down. The sight they make now is instead artwork in motion, steps paced so well and every turn so graceful as to seem as though they may have practiced in advance and learned the minute idiosyncrasies of each other's bodies.
And there is, of course, the matter of Wilhelm's request—and this time, the smile that curves at Louis' mouth is one of satisfaction. ]
So it is wisdom you seek. Then you are in luck.
[ He accepts the cue, drifting toward the corner of the ballroom. The orchestra plays on, making it impossible for their other comrades to overhear the conversation. Numerous pairs of eyes stray their way, trailing after them, but no one dares interrupt under Fidelio's and Basilio's watchful gazes in the distance. ]
I have scoured this kingdom for years to build my collection, plucking lost tomes and forbidden texts from the Sanctist Church's treacherous grasp. There are countless books they would sooner see burned than allow the ignorant masses consume, lest the fallacies they weave be revealed for what they are. If you've such an interest, I will allow you this boon. You may see for yourself.
[ It has not escaped him that there are some who are missing from attendance. It is hardly necessary for him to determine himself who has departed early, but the boy seems curious enough about the library. Who is Louis to deny him, after he had outdone himself in their dance? And just as Louis will allow him the privilege of perusing the tomes, Louis will have a look for himself whether someone has ventured where they ought not to be. ]
[ Inwardly, Will has begun to have the same concern: is he fouling up the plan by asking for access to Louis's private library? Heismay and Gallica should be on their way to infiltrate the man's quarters by now. If Louis takes him there right after the soirée... is he just putting his companions at risk of being caught?
...No, but he has faith. With all his experience in the Shadowguard, surely Heismay understands the necessity of getting in and then getting out, with an operation like this. Moreover, there's no guarantee that Louis will want Will to come with him right after this. Perhaps it can wait until the morrow... ]
...Yes. That's what I want.
[ ...A change in the music cues Will to dip Louis, instead. This startles some in the crowd, who did not expect to see their lord bend to the whims of the elda boy he's taken an unusual interest in, but Will pays it no mind. He thinks, instead, of the sheer pleasure he feels (he should not call it pleasure, should not take pleasure in it) when he slides his hand up from Louis's lower back, through the curve of his spine, up between his shoulderblades. The crowd cannot see this, this indulgent touch, for the way that Louis's cape conceals it from view. His body is so big, so solid, so warm against Will's hand. So real, and yet — so unreal. So like fantasy, like something borne of an author's pen.
This is hardly Will's first time thinking that a man is handsome — Strohl, certainly, is classically handsome, and even Alonzo is possessed of that bewitching beauty that all nidia (save, apparently, Jin) are said to have — but Louis Guiabern is dizzyingly, frighteningly attractive. Less like another mortal man and more like a creature crafted for temptation. The part of his lips as he's dipped downward — that alone could haunt Will's dreams and nightmares. ]
Tell me something that no one else in the world would know, Louis.
[ It's just something to say in the moment. Perhaps it's an idle flirtation. He needs Louis to think that it's the wisdom he seeks, and not knowledge of the prince, whom Will is afraid to mention in the moment, lest it prompts Louis to suspect that the young royal is still alive and poised to steal the throne from him. On another level, he is genuinely curious: what secrets does this man guard from the rest of the world? ]
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From the very outset, nothing worked out as it should have. Strohl was only able to hold Louis's attention for a scant few minutes rather than the full half-hour they'd initially planned around. Will tried to excuse himself as quickly as possible, but had found his path blocked by Glodell, who seemed intent on starting a fight with him at the soiree. Hulkenberg had tried to intervene, engaging the man on the basis of tribal similarities, but this only seemed to further infuriate Glodell, who apparently has some sort of complex around not being the typical strapping "knife-eared" male. Even then, Will had ducked away from the bickering roussaintes, only to find himself held in place by a raucous Glechom, who for some reason (perhaps because of their engagement over the keys?) seemed to recognize him as a friend through a drunken stupor. And then, as soon as Will had managed to extricate himself from that situation —
The crowd parts, and Louis Guiabern walks toward him, one hand extended in an invitation to dance.
For a moment, Will doubts his ears.
The orchestra players continue to draw their bows along their instruments, pouring out their lilting melodies, and the longer that Will waits to respond to Louis, the more the crowd murmurs unrest. There's no saving it, their Captain decides in the blink of an eye; the plan is ruined. After this stunt, there's no way he'll be able to leave the soiree in peace. All eyes will be on him until the end of the night.
"Take Heismay," he whispers to Gallica, trusting her to execute the rest of the plan, before he turns to Louis, and instinctively presses his hand into the man's palm.
He regrets doing so almost immediately. He hasn't even thought of what to say, but appeasing the man's whims seems to be more important in the moment. One does not simply say no to Louis Guiabern, and Will feels maddeningly distracted by the thought that Louis's hand is impossibly bigger than his own.
What does he say? What could he possibly say in this situation? The act snaps into place before he's even thought about it. Sometimes Will finds it so unbearably easy to pretend to be someone else that it scares him. Wilhelm the loyal follower of Count Louis Guiabern would surely say something like this: ]
...I fear myself unworthy of this honor, Lord Louis.
[ And yet his hand is in the count's; and yet he has accepted the invitation. And yet he looks up shyly at Louis's handsome face through thick dark lashes, and then looks down again, as if to affect a demure chasteness. Intoxicatingly innocent, but seductive, too, in how deliberate it is.
The whispers from the soldiers have already begun to reach his ears.
"Hey... the elda boy? Really?"
"What about Lady Junah?"
"Heard she's out sick tonight."
"So his Lordship gets his new boytoy to entertain him for the evening? Bold as brass, like."
"Why couldn't it be meeeee?" ]
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[ The elegant fingers around Wilhelm's firm, not unlike a bear trap snaring prey by an ankle. Wilhelm's hand seems a slender, delicate thing in Louis' grasp, even hidden beneath those gloves he's rarely seen without. Only the briefest moment of hesitation before his placid acceptance—but then again, were he less observant and cognizant of the attention on him, perhaps he would not have known how to manipulate the crowd's attention so, back when he and his allies brought the sanctoress before everyone.
Louis cares little for the whispers. The crowd remains parted, so he takes the opportunity to lead his partner through the offered path to the vacant dance floor. After he takes the first dance, others will soon follow and join them on the floor, some to get a closer look and others to continue making merry. His steps remain measured—perhaps a little more so than usual, to help account for Wilhelm's smaller stride.
For just a moment, Wilhelm had looked up at him, then away again, with an unusual demureness. It wasn't an unpleasant expression. But would this kind of personality have produced the spectacle that Wilhelm delivered those weeks ago? That was the type of audacity that spoke of a more tenacious sort of resolve.
A boy of more than one face, then. Which is his truest one?
The orchestra has eased into the swells of a grander piece now, strings crooning in the background. They've set a tempo appropriate for a classic waltz. Louis releases Wilhelm's hand for just a moment with a whisper of fabric, glove crinkling slightly, and gives a courteous bow per ballroom etiquette—cursory, only a light dip of his proud head, but the fact he does it at all elicits another flurry of whispers. It has been a long time since he'd deigned to dance at an event, after ascending far enough up the ranks that he no longer needed to bother with such trifles.
Still, it has been an even longer time since there was another elda in the city besides him—and one of rising prominence, at that.
With only a slight quirk of his mouth, Louis fixes his eyes on Wilhelm's, surveying those odd eyes of his, one gold, one the shade of the sky itself. Nostalgic, somehow. Almost familiar. ]
Do you know the steps to this dance, Wilhelm?
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[ Will falters, but his body is already beginning to settle into the proper posture; he greets Louis with a bow of his own, deeper, more reverent. And yet, the very fact that he knows this etiquette at all is confusing to him. Why does he know this? Why would a commoner know how to waltz? When would he have been taught? Was there a time when he danced with the prince? That would make sense, but he can't recall ever doing so, and what is distracting him is that he can hear others murmuring about the same thing.
"Think the elda knows how to dance?"
"You'd think the count would've asked one of the nobles in attendance..."
"There couldn't be a more mismatched pair..."
"You think? I think they look good together..."
Feeling a bit incensed at the whispers in the crowd, though they're no worse than anything that was said to him the first time he stepped into Sunshade Row, Will straightens a little and slides into Louis's embrace. If nothing else, he must approach this the way he approaches anything else: with diligence, and an eye for the future. If Heismay and Gallica are on their way to Louis's room, it's his job to entertain the man. He might even be able to win himself more of Louis's favor in the process. ]
I think so, yes. Pray forgive me if I make any mistakes.
[ Calmly, he settles his hand on Louis's upper back, allowing Louis to rest his hand on Will's lower back in turn. That same distracted part of the youg man's brain notes that Louis's waist is smaller than his shoulders would suggest; his uniform has been so neatly tailored to his frame that it almost seems as though he's wearing a corset. Will can barely meet the man's long-lashed green gaze. Louis seems to be searching for something in his own mismatched eyes, and Will is half-afraid of what he might be seeking, because he suspects that he would not be able to refuse if asked for it.
Ostensibly, as a man, Will should have been taught the leading role, but he finds himself settling into the role of the leaded partner with surprising ease. Maybe it was with the prince, then...? But then, why doesn't he remember such a thing happening?
(Once upon his time, his royal tutor had him learn the lady's part in preparation of being a better dance partner in the leading role. Young Wilhelm never much listened to such fluff, and in the end, he didn't have time to learn the rest.)
As tense as he is, Will tries to distract his brain with thoughts of levity. Lightly, he remarks — half a joke and half a comment — ]
...I would hate to step on your feet. Your shoes are always so clean.
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You will adapt quickly. Should you make a poor spectacle of yourself, my shoes would be the least of your concerns.
[ He takes Wilhelm's hand in his own, warmth meeting where their fingers touch. Louis' grip is a firm thing, the gravity of it as inescapable as his presence. It's not lost on him how readily the motions have come to Wilhelm so far, as though he is practiced in this. All the better. Louis sets an uncompromising pace, giving him the dignity of showcasing his skill without being covered for, and sweeps him around the dance floor in poised steps. ]
It seems you are full of ceaseless surprises. Most elda would have little use for the minutiae of ballroom etiquette in the capital.
[ Coming from anyone else, perhaps it would be an insult. Louis, for his part, only sounds pensive. Once, he had taken care to follow norms and customs in the capital diligently, to ensure he was above any criticism during his early rise through the army ranks. But after all that has happened, he no longer cares to appease the masses. If he dies for it, it would only prove he is every bit as weak and undeserving as the rest. There is little left for him to falter over anymore.
With only another bit of light pressure at Wilhelm's back as a cue, Louis moves to twirl him, their shifting shadows converging and parting along the beautiful marble flooring. Around them, despite themselves, the crowd burbles and murmurs; the more seconds that pass, the more some seem taken in.
"Ah... Lord Louis... I've not seen him dance in so long..."
"Ain't the elda not doing too shabby himself?"
"Maybe I should try to find a sanctoress' head to bring in next time too—"
"Don't be a fool. There's audacious, and there's stupid. The elda might've pulled it off, but you really think you can do the same?" ]
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Louis's remark startles him from his thoughts. For a moment, Will falters, but Louis twirls him gently backwards, hiding his misstep; he watches the world turn around him, then sinks gently back into Louis's arms, anchored by the man's grip on his reality. ]
I... must have picked it up somewhere.
[ From the corner of Will's eye, he thinks he saw the flash of Strohl's yellow jacket near the bright red of Hulkenberg's hair, but he can't be certain, and he doesn't want to turn his head to look. Not when his eyes are locked on Louis's; not when the whole of his concentration is focused on the point where the "clemar's" hand is resting on his lower back, and where their hands are connected, joined in dance. Each time their bodies brush together, Will becomes all too aware of the man's physicality. He has such a large body, such long limbs... ]
...Perhaps I learned specifically because I did not wish to embarrass you at this soiree. [ Wouldn't that be a charming thing to think? He watches Louis's face closely for a reaction. ] Practicing at all hours in preparation for this crowd.
[ And what a crowd it is. A low wolf-whistle, a distant laugh. "Just getting closer, aye? Oh, Lady Junah's not going to like this."
"Churlish cur. Have you never had the chance to speak with her? She would love this."
"Can't just be them dancing, now! Someone else join in! Emile, you with me?"
"Ten reeve says the boy's in Louis's bed by the end of the night..." ]
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Quite calculating of you. You anticipated you would dance like this?
[ Just when Will might think there is a moment to respond, perhaps the breath is stolen straight from his throat. With another commanding step, their footfalls rhythmic against the backdrop of orchestral strings, the crescendo of music, the hand at Wilhelm's back shifts as though to let him fall. And just as he might relinquish himself to the motion or stumble trying to catch himself, Louis is leaning forward with him, his hold firming once more—it all gives way to an elegant dip that sends the feather-soft strands of Wilhelm's hair slipping from the way they usually frame his face to hang down, beckoned by gravity.
If not for the high collar of his coat, Wilhelm's throat would have been left bare.
The corners of Louis' eyes crinkle ever so slightly. What this means for Wilhelm, he'll have to gauge himself. ]
The boldness that brought you forward to present the sanctoress to claim my esteem—is it the same that would have driven you to ask for a dance, had I not done so first?
[ The way they stand casts a shadow across Wilhelm's face as the flutter of Louis' hair grazes him. They are close enough that he is the only one who can hear what Louis has just said, especially as the crowd burbles on around them and the dance floor has filled with more pairs, some of them clumsier with drink in their stomachs than others, enough to afford them a touch more privacy. ]
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For a moment, Will sees only the ceiling, and Louis's impossibly beautiful face, illuminated by a bright white halo from the lights above. The thing about being dipped, he realizes suddenly, is that it requires such complete surrender; the whole of his weight is borne in Louis's hand right now, but that hand feels so large, splayed out against his back, that it nearly takes Will's breath away. He's always near fully covered, but a sliver of extra skin peeks out from under his scarf; for an impossible moment, Will swears he can feel Louis's gaze trailing over his neck. ]
Perhaps I would have...
[ The music picks up again; Will is pulled up as the beat demands, but as he recovers, he places one hand along the side of Louis's face, drawing himself in, his mouth nearly close enough to brush against the general's in a kiss. They're more obscured by other dancers on the floor now, but even so, Will hears a distant tittering gasp. He pushes it out of his mind; whatever issues Junah may have with him later, if any, are not to be considered now. If fate has decreed that he must take the role of the distraction in tonight's plan, then he is going to carry it through. ]
Perhaps I've wanted more than your esteem.
[ Maybe this is a step too far. Will does think that, but he only has a few seconds to execute his strategy as he's crafting it. Maybe the seduction is too far. But what does it matter? He would sacrifice anything for his prince. ]
Is that too bold?
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[ Louis lets himself look, taking in the softness of Wilhelm's lips not far from his own, the vibration of his soft laugh a brand against the boy where they press together again. But he does not quite close the gap. His own exhale drifts over Wilhelm's mouth—their lips nearly brush as he speaks, maddeningly close. ]
I am not one to seek fawning sycophants. If it is daring that has driven you this far, then it becomes you to draw upon that strength.
[ Louis' grip tightens the slightest fraction around Wilhelm's slender hand. The strength he wishes to see hasn't been in plain sight. By this point, Wilhelm and his allies have felled multiple humans by that seemingly lost power of Archetypes. What would it be like to strip away the pretenses donned and witness Wilhelm at the pinnacle of his strength? Would he be bold and wild, effortlessly fierce? Or would he be nearly on the brink of offering himself anyway, sweet and docile, as he is now?
It's the promise of possibilities—the unpredictability of it all—that holds Louis' attention, curious for what might happen next.
The current song has started to reach its end, the notes trailing toward a lull. The orchestra begins its next piece. Everything that people know of Louis Guiabern is steeped in utter irreverence and shameless confidence. Is it so unexpected, then, that he keeps his hold on Wilhelm and whirls the boy into the steps of a second dance, in lieu of selecting a new partner?
In this wasteland of those who seek him, worship him, wish to use him, there's something to be said of an anomaly who presents a different sort of prize. How far would Wilhelm go to impress him? Is it a sleight of hand he will present next, a stroke of genius? Or a truer challenge? Louis cares not for the risks. No matter what machination is hidden behind the curtain, he will best it—he will conquer it. ]
If you wish for more, you will have to earn it. Prove to me you are worthy of more than my esteem.
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It makes Will bristle, just the barest bit. He is not a man who is wont to anger, but it frustrates him somewhat, to have to appease someone so demanding, when he, so often the least demanding in a room, finds himself regularly downtrodden and dismissed. (He does not know what he does not know; he will know later that Louis knows all too well what it is like to be hated for something that you cannot change about yourself.) He can't stand it — the idea of being asked for more by a man who, to all outward eyes, already has everything.
So infuriating.
And yet — so hot.
The last song ending and a new song beginning gives Will an opportunity to strike. In the lull between notes, as they stand partly obscured by other couples beginning to enter the dance floor — some couples, noblemen with their ladies, and other couples, Louis's tipsy soldiers, some having a laugh, and others quite earnest — Will puts his hand on Louis's lower back, and lifts his hand — ]
You are such —
[ He steps forward as the first notes ring out, smoothly and boldly stealing the lead from Louis — ]
— a demanding man.
[ They turn; they twirl. He has Louis on his back foot now, though only the most observant in the crowd would notice. They've half-blended into the crowd, but their white clothes help them stick out, keep all eyes on them.
"Say, is that the younger Magnus brother, there?"
"Almost looks like him, but no, that's some other paripus. Basilio's got waves to his hair."
"Aww, where did Lord Louis go? I was hoping he'd see me in my dress!"
"Don't think a dress will help you much, the way he's staring that elda boy down..."
"The elda would look nice in a dress, though, don't you think?"
"You got somethin' you need to tell me, mate?"
"I say, did they switch things up?"
"Aye, where's Glechom? Bugger 'im, 'e owes me four thousand quid!"
Will ignores the chaos around them. Focuses on his steps, and the swaying of the beat, and the amount of precision he needs to guide Louis's larger body around the dance floor. He tries not to be distracted by the glimpse of Strohl he thinks he saw in the crowd, pale and nervous and looking as though he'd been stricken by his worst nightmares come to life. He keeps his eyes on Louis, and the mad intensity in his eyes, framed so strikingly by dark lashes. ]
Does this please you? [ Will's voice is low, heated. Even a little dangerous. ] Should I push you harder?
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It's flawless. Not a single real misstep.
And all the while, there's a tempest in Wilhelm's eyes. Louis does not look away from him at all now, nor does he pay any attention to the chatter around them. ]
And if I were to say it does?
[ There's amusement in his gaze, laced with something else—a deeper satisfaction now at having torn the veneer of the quiet, unassuming demeanor Wilhelm had played at having. ]
Those who have carved a place for themselves in this world are wont to make demands of it. [ He says it easily, as though it is a fact of life. ] It is the masses who clamor to meet such demands, seeking favors to elevate themselves. And just as easily as they offer their gilded promises, so too do they turn.
[ Louis' eyelids lower to half-mast. His gaze turns thoughtful, considering, and not a fraction less sharp. ]
You are not one so easily led. And every challenge you have been presented with, you have faced without qualms.
[ It isn't beyond him that what Wilhelm seeks lies beyond his respect, beyond the implications of their conversation. For a moment, he considers what it would be like if Wilhelm had truly come to him for the reason he had presented so earnestly in the beginning—if someone who so unabashedly let the world witness who he was, without shying away, like a beacon searing through the putrid decay of this kingdom, indeed only yearned for his regard at the heart of things. The type of story spun of naive, idealistic dreams.
He is, of course, beyond such things now. ]
Shall I reward you for such nerve? You who claims he seeks only to help me... What manner of boon would you seek?
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Will they all think worse of him, if they realize that he would lie if it brought him closer to the fulfillment of his mission?
Will thinks very quickly. He doesn't have time to wonder if what he wants to do is right. Half-victorious, half-panicking, he answers, without thinking and with too much thinking all at once: ]
It seems to me you ask this question because you doubt my loyalty, Lord Louis.
[ One, two, three; one, two, three. There is a kind of rhythmic pleasure, he finds, in being Louis's lead. The man may be a monster, but he is a pleasure to dance with. In another life, he thinks — in a more idyllic chapter of history, one less tumultuous as this one — Will half-imagines, for an inexplicable moment, that he would have liked to have been a young maiden swept off her feet by the illustrious Count Guiabern at a ball. ]
What do you think I would ask for?
[ He is returning a question with a question, which is something of a rhetorical cheap shot; partly, this is because he is trying to buy himself some time. Will wets his lips and swallows on a dry throat. ]
Power? Prestige?
[ A break in the music brings Will closer to the man's ear. Standing on tiptoe, aggressive despite their height differential, the elda boy whispers hot against Louis's eardrum: ]
The pleasure of your person...?
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What is it, then, that drives him? ]
I daresay you are not one swayed by such trifles.
[ Trifles, he says, as though the power and prestige so many have clawed their way through the mire for are but inconsequential matters. Louis, too, has felt the tread of another's boot upon his head before, back in the days he was younger, less secure in his position, so easily discarded and made to fight for his life by the borders. A sentence not unlike death, and he had slit throats and gutted people just to prove he had earned the privilege of drawing another breath and returning in bloodied glory. Power is the most universal, surefire language of this world—and even then, it carries warnings. ]
Power bequeathed by another's will alone is hollow, meaningless. If I granted you such things... Would that truly satisfy you?
[ Perhaps they both know the answer to that. The brief reprieve in the music drifts to an end. The instruments rise in a swell, strings crooning, and Louis is the one to draw Wilhelm into the next steps, gracefully taking back the lead. And yet, it is a gentler, more intimate touch that Louis grants him. A soft press of fingers to the small of the boy's back, the fingers of his other hand laced with Wilhelm's with a firmness not quite as domineering as it was. A shift too subtle for those around them to notice. ]
It seems far likelier you have your sights set higher. And if your vision matches mine, perhaps we are not so different, you and I.
[ His eyes flash, rippling with the gleam of some insatiable, inscrutable hunger. ]
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The young elda takes a breath, pressing the tips of his fingers lightly into Louis's lower back. He tries not to be distracted by the man's physicality; though he's the one taking the lead in this dance, he can't help but lose himself just slightly in the swaying rhythm of their steps, the sense that Louis's larger body could take power away from his at any moment.
He closes his eyes. For a moment, he lets himself feel the music, each thudding step, the soaring arc of the strings. Then he opens his eyes again, and, undaunted, stakes his claim. ]
...Give me access to your personal library.
[ His eyes betray no trace of doubt now as he gazes into Louis's brilliant irises and turns him gently towards another corner of the ballroom. ]
Surely you have something like that? [ Confident, he sinks his teeth in still further: ] I want to come and go from it as I please.
[ Inwardly, of course, Will is sweating. But Gallica said something like this, didn't she? That Junah exited Louis's personal quarters with a book? Even if she and the Count are paramours, surely Will can be afforded the same privilege...? ]
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For someone who shouldn't have such finesse in this type of dance, Wilhelm is performing superbly, to the point that the initial murmurs of contention and consternation have died down. The sight they make now is instead artwork in motion, steps paced so well and every turn so graceful as to seem as though they may have practiced in advance and learned the minute idiosyncrasies of each other's bodies.
And there is, of course, the matter of Wilhelm's request—and this time, the smile that curves at Louis' mouth is one of satisfaction. ]
So it is wisdom you seek. Then you are in luck.
[ He accepts the cue, drifting toward the corner of the ballroom. The orchestra plays on, making it impossible for their other comrades to overhear the conversation. Numerous pairs of eyes stray their way, trailing after them, but no one dares interrupt under Fidelio's and Basilio's watchful gazes in the distance. ]
I have scoured this kingdom for years to build my collection, plucking lost tomes and forbidden texts from the Sanctist Church's treacherous grasp. There are countless books they would sooner see burned than allow the ignorant masses consume, lest the fallacies they weave be revealed for what they are. If you've such an interest, I will allow you this boon. You may see for yourself.
[ It has not escaped him that there are some who are missing from attendance. It is hardly necessary for him to determine himself who has departed early, but the boy seems curious enough about the library. Who is Louis to deny him, after he had outdone himself in their dance? And just as Louis will allow him the privilege of perusing the tomes, Louis will have a look for himself whether someone has ventured where they ought not to be. ]
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...No, but he has faith. With all his experience in the Shadowguard, surely Heismay understands the necessity of getting in and then getting out, with an operation like this. Moreover, there's no guarantee that Louis will want Will to come with him right after this. Perhaps it can wait until the morrow... ]
...Yes. That's what I want.
[ ...A change in the music cues Will to dip Louis, instead. This startles some in the crowd, who did not expect to see their lord bend to the whims of the elda boy he's taken an unusual interest in, but Will pays it no mind. He thinks, instead, of the sheer pleasure he feels (he should not call it pleasure, should not take pleasure in it) when he slides his hand up from Louis's lower back, through the curve of his spine, up between his shoulderblades. The crowd cannot see this, this indulgent touch, for the way that Louis's cape conceals it from view. His body is so big, so solid, so warm against Will's hand. So real, and yet — so unreal. So like fantasy, like something borne of an author's pen.
This is hardly Will's first time thinking that a man is handsome — Strohl, certainly, is classically handsome, and even Alonzo is possessed of that bewitching beauty that all nidia (save, apparently, Jin) are said to have — but Louis Guiabern is dizzyingly, frighteningly attractive. Less like another mortal man and more like a creature crafted for temptation. The part of his lips as he's dipped downward — that alone could haunt Will's dreams and nightmares. ]
Tell me something that no one else in the world would know, Louis.
[ It's just something to say in the moment. Perhaps it's an idle flirtation. He needs Louis to think that it's the wisdom he seeks, and not knowledge of the prince, whom Will is afraid to mention in the moment, lest it prompts Louis to suspect that the young royal is still alive and poised to steal the throne from him. On another level, he is genuinely curious: what secrets does this man guard from the rest of the world? ]