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As the aquabus pulls into Marcotte Station, the pink Melusine at the helm adjusts her powder-blue necktie before straightening to meet the passengers waiting at the station.
“Hello, Your Grace.”
Wriothesley smiles, well aware of the Navia Line aquabus operator’s tendency to avoid idle chatter. “Good evening, Elphane,” he says as he boards the aquabus, followed by a group of Melusines who greet their sister cheerily as well.
Elphane smiles in return, evidently in a good mood as she announces the immediate departure of the aquabus. She even contributes a couple of thoughts to the ongoing discussion about the seeds Manaia brought back from her visit to Natlan, which are currently residing in a freshly-dug flowerbed in Cosanzeana’s garden.
“Manaia says they’re called ‘Cacahuatl’ and the people in Natlan make chocolate from them! Maybe we can make our own chocolate once they’ve grown!”
According to the Traveler, and with further confirmation from Sigewinne, Cosanzeana has quite the green thumb when it comes to growing flowers from other nations. Wriothesley’s unsure whether the same applies to the Cacahuatl beans often used as an ingredient for chocolate-flavoured treats, but if anyone can grow them on Fontainian soil it’s as likely to be her as anyone else. Perhaps she may even end up sharing some of the resulting crop with Sigewinne, and then the milkshakes she plies him with might just see an improvement in taste.
Or perhaps a deterioration—Cacahuatl beans are supposed to be bitter before they’re processed into chocolate, if he remembers correctly. That might actually appeal to the Melusines’ unique preferences, or Sigewinne could deem them nutritious anyway and add them to her recipe. Perhaps if he sneaks in a few cubes of sugar he could salvage the flavour?
The Duke shakes his head in amused resignation. As if he could succeed in modifying Sigewinne’s concoctions right under her nose.
The Head Nurse in question glances at him while engrossed in conversation with Ottnit, as if sensing his crafty thoughts. He puts on his most innocent grin, then pretends to be distracted by a newly-manifested sticker on his forearm as a chorus of not-so-discreet giggles rises from his fellow aquabus passengers. There won’t be much chance of him peeling it off this evening for certain.
After all, it’s a sleepover for Melusines that he’s escorting these ladies to, and he wouldn’t like to disappoint them.
When the aquabus pulls into the Court Region Waterway Hub, Elphane looks up and straightens again. “We have now arrived at the final station. Please remember to take all your personal belongings with you when disembarking. We wish you a pleasant stay at the Court of Fontaine,” she intones.
Wriothesley nods as he lets the other girls get off first. “Last aquabus of the year,” he remarks as he holds out a hand for her to step off the aquabus as well. “Though it doesn’t feel any different from usual, does it?”
“It’s like any last aquabus of the day,” she agrees as they step onto the station platform and the aquabus starts to pull away. “I clock out at the main hall downstairs, then take the lift up to the Palais Mermonia. Hmm… it does feel different this time with so many Melusines coming with me though.”
“Well, tonight is special after all.” Notably, Wriothesley isn’t included in this apparent novelty, having on several occasions walked with Elphane to their shared destination of the Palais Mermonia at the end of the day. They all take the elevator down to the main hall, then wait in the near-deserted lobby as she clocks out and rejoins them in civilian clothes instead of her uniform.
The Melusines continue to chat as the elevator takes them to the 4th floor, but as they walk across the bridge connecting the Waterway Hub’s exit to the Palais Mermonia, there’s a hush as they take in the panoramic view of the Court of Fontaine’s buildings lit up all around them. For the girls who usually spend their time in Merusea Village, the nighttime scenery visible from their vantage point on one of the city’s highest levels is a rare sight, and Wriothesley stops to wait for them to drink it all in.
“We should get a move on,” Trow says at last as she nudges Aeife beside her. “Sedene and the others must be waiting for us.”
He knows Trow and Aeife both reside in dormitories within the Palais Mermonia, along with Elphane and Aeval and Ottnit and the other Melusines who are part of the Marechaussee Phantom or work in the city. With them in the group, technically Wriothesley’s presence isn’t needed here at all. And yet, earlier that day he’d met with several Melusines in the Fortress of Meropide’s infirmary before taking them all to Marcotte Station to take the last aquabus to the city.
“It’s a shorter trip from Merusea Village to the Fortress,” Sigewinne had explained. “And this way nobody gets lost on the way here! It’s easy to keep track of you among the crowd after all.”
They’d barely encountered anyone on the avenue from the Opera Epiclese to the aquabus station, and both the Waterway Hub and the plaza in front of the Palais Mermonia are essentially empty. After all, most people are likely to be at home or out with friends and loved ones at this time, celebrating on the eve of the new year. Then again the Melusines are indeed his friends, and he’d also received an invitation from a loved one to welcome the new year with him and his daughters. The letter is locked up safely in the second drawer of his office desk, along with several other letters in an elegant script carrying the same faint scent of petrichor and Lakelight Lilies.
So as the staff entrance on the side of the Palais Mermonia opens to show Sedene and Liath waving at everyone to come in, Wriothesley enters through the door along with the others. Hidden by the flow of Melusines talking and walking around him, his hand slides discreetly into his pocket to ensure the little box he brought is secure and in place
“3, 2, 1, Happy New Year!”
As if on cue, the sound of fireworks begins right as the clock strikes 12. The Melusines’ dormitory floor situated roughly around the middle of the Palais Mermonia’s height means that they have an excellent view of the fireworks currently being set off at various parts of the city, without being too high up to see them clearly. Several of them are now gathered at the large windows on one end of the dorm’s common room, ooh’ing and aah’ing at the colourful explosions of light dotting the skyline before them.
Not everyone has successfully stayed awake long enough to ring in the new year; some are curled up on cushions and custom-made couches designed for Melusine-sized occupants, dozing off comfortably amidst the general buzz in the room. Puca murmurs something about shiny rocks as she leans against Neuvillette’s arm, his undone long white locks of hair lying in her lap along with the comb she’d dropped when she nodded off. He gently sweeps his hair out of the way, then bends down to pick her up and settle her onto one of the sleeping bags laid out earlier.
There is a veritable lineup of treats served at the Melusines’ sleepover, from pastries ordered from Hotel Debord to candies purchased from Louis’ shop in the Vasari Passage. Even fried items like Feast-O’s and chips had made it onto the tables stacked along one side of the common room, within easy reach for peckish attendees in between board games and film showings and drawing new creations that would inevitably end up as stickers somewhere on an unsuspecting person’s sleeve or shirt. Wriothesley has even seen a couple of his inmates discover little surprises on their clothing after a trip to the infirmary while a Melusine was visiting the Head Nurse, likely meant as a friendly get-well-soon wish.
He himself is currently serving as an accommodating display board, sporting a dozen new sticker doodles as he sits on a cushion next to where Puca was sitting before. With Neuvillette’s back turned to him, he can see a number of stickers flashing in and out of view as his loose hair sways with his movements; in between the Melusines’ attempts at braiding his hair based on tutorials in fashion magazines and a few tips from the Duke himself, the little adhesive doodles appear to have found their way onto the Iudex as well.
“And here’s one more for you!” Rhemia announces as she taps Wriothesley’s elbow with her paw, leaving an illustration of a shark with a black mop of hair balancing a Feast-O on its snout. She beams as she steps back expectantly, and he obligingly raises his arm to observe the new decoration.
“You girls are going for a food theme today, it seems.” He’d received one earlier from Verenata of another black-haired shark swimming in a bowl of Poisson Seafood Soup, which he’s about half certain is meant to be an adorable image instead of concerning. None of the Melusines would want to turn him into soup, surely.
“It’s the first time some of us get to observe you eating up close,” Rhemia explains matter-of-factly. “You seem to enjoy eating fried foods more than sweet ones, but you pick out the Bulle Fruit first and peel the skin for Monsieur Neuvillette. Then he opens his mouth and you feed them to him.”
“Well, his hands are indeed occupied.” Neuvillette had tried his hand at braiding the girls’ hair too, albeit in smaller segments since their hair is shorter. The Melusines on their part seem absolutely delighted to wear braids in brightly-coloured ribbons done up by their beloved Monsieur, to the point that some of them are sitting to the side passionately brainstorming ways to go to sleep while still keeping the braids intact through the night.
Wriothesley knows Neuvillette would happily braid their hair for each and every one of them again in the morning, but with around 50 of them present it would very likely take up the better part of the next day. Just as well then that the first day of the new year is a public holiday, and earlier this evening Sedene has confided her determination to keep his office locked up until the next working day.
The dragon in question now takes Puca’s place next to him, looking around at all his daughters spread out across the common room. Eyelids are drooping everywhere, from the window seat where the fireworks viewers are gathered to the handicrafts corner strewn with supplies and stickers, and in front of the projector a few Melusines have already fallen asleep in their comfy pile of blankets and cushions. He shares a glance with Wriothesley, receives a matching fond smile, and without further word they get to their feet to make their rounds among the sleepy Melusines.
The projector is turned off, the art supplies are put away, board games are stored in their boxes and stacked neatly on the shelf, and any leftover food is packed up and the tables wiped down until not a crumb is left. The assistance of the more wakeful Melusines speeds up the process considerably, and soon most of the girls are tucked away in their own sleeping bags or beds in the adjoining rooms. Only Sigewinne and Sedene remain, walking their two adult-sized guests to the stairs on one end of the dormitory floor.
“And if Canotila wakes up in the middle of the night and can’t fall back asleep, you will come to get me from upstairs, right?”
“We definitely will, Monsieur Neuvillette.” Sedene’s smile is warmer than her usual professional demeanour at the Palais Mermonia’s reception desk, but it carries the same firmness with which she directs visitors as she holds the door to the stairwell open for them. “I’m certain she’ll be fine, please have a good night’s rest and we’ll see you in the morning.”
“And no staying up late either, both of you!” Sigewinne adds. “It’s already past midnight and you shouldn’t disrupt your sleep cycle, even if tomorrow is a holiday.”
Wriothesley figures it would be unwise to point out that both himself and Neuvillette don’t have the most regular sleep schedules to begin with, so instead he places a hand on Neuvillette’s far shoulder and subtly ushers him towards the stairs. “We’ll get our beauty rest, don’t you worry Head Nurse.”
“You both have been a great help tonight, thank you.” Neuvillette bends down and places a kiss on each of their foreheads in turn, coupled with a hug before standing up again. “Goodnight and sweet dreams, we’ll see you in the morning.”
“Goodnight, Monsieur Neuvillette and Your Grace!” And with that, the door to the stairwell closes with a light thud.
Wriothesley’s hand falls from Neuvillette’s shoulder to find his hand, lacing their fingers together. “Are the goodnight kisses new?”
“Only in private,” the Hydro Dragon explains, a light dusting of pink visible on his cheeks even in the dim emergency light of the stairwell. “When there are others present, they are still members of the Marechaussee Phantom and my subordinates first. As for Sigewinne and the others… well, it is rare that I get to see them to sleep when we are not living under the same roof.”
“True, I think you’ve mentioned that you don’t spend the night in Merusea Village when you visit.” Wriothesley leads the way up the stairwell and onto the landing of the floor above, pushing the door open without any of the usual carefulness. The few higher-ranked staff whose quarters share a floor with that of the Chief Justice have all gone home for the new year, as Sedene had reassured him earlier, and they are the only occupants of the floor tonight. “And convincing you to stay over with me… well, I can count the number of times on one hand.”
“Sigewinne needs to sleep early to have enough energy for her duties as Head Nurse,” Neuvillette insists as he withdraws the key to his apartments from the pocket of his nightrobe. “I would not disrupt her rest during my… excursions to the Fortress.”
“Excursions, you say?” There is a twinkle in Wriothesley’s eye as he releases Neuvillette’s hand and trails his fingers down the back of the other’s palm, enjoying the slight shiver as the hand turning the key in the door’s keyhole falters just for a moment. “Then would you consider my previous overnight meetings here to be of a similar leisurely nature?”
He grins, sparing Neuvillette the necessity of an answer by squeezing his hand as the door opens to the Iudex’s living quarters. As the light is turned on, he sees the furnishings are as he remembers from his previous visits, sparse enough to easily commit to memory, though he notes that there are a few new paintings hung up on the wall of the sitting room. The artstyle is graffiti-like in aesthetic; Manaia must have learned a few techniques from the artists in Natlan.
Before he can step closer to admire the artwork however, he finds himself tugged towards the armchair until he falls into it with a stumble. Above him stands Neuvillette, unbound locks of hair framing his face and trailing over his shoulders as his pale pupils peer down at Wriothesley. Less like a judge about to pronounce a sentence on a defendant however; if anything it feels more like a feline eying an oblivious rodent. A predator locking down on its prey.
“Our meetings are… comfortable.”
Wriothesley blinks, some of the deliciously charged tension in the room dissipating at the words. He knew Neuvillette was not the type to declare something as ‘pleasurable’ or ‘sensual’ openly, but even if their turns of phrase aren’t quite the same—and make no mistake, Wriothesley certainly finds their nights together pleasurable and sensual and all of those other adjectives—it’s still admittedly a bit of a letdown to have your lover describe your bedroom life as merely comfortable. But this is Neuvillette, a dragon in the form of a human who takes time to figure out these very human emotions he experiences, and Wriothesley is happy to provide his patience.
“You seem confused. Let me elaborate.” Before he can say a word, Neuvillette is suddenly kneeling between his parted thighs and oh, yes the charged tension is back with a vengeance. It sizzles under Wriothesley’s skin, practically launching sparks through his pores like the fireworks earlier, especially when both his hands are taken in Neuvillette’s own. Shit, did he suspect what Wriothesley had brought with him tonight? He tries his very best not to glance at the pocket of his pants, hoping the little box in its depths isn’t noticeable to the man currently hovering over his lap.
“I was aware of the activities human couples engage in when sharing a bed, but I had neither the preparation nor the desire to partake of those activities with a partner. There have been offers,” which yeah, Wriothesley could predict as much, “but none which invoked the inclination or the reassurance I needed to accept them.
“But when I first realised how far my sentiments for you extended beyond the strictly professional, or even platonic, it was a disconcerting experience. Not because you are not desirable, far from it, but because of the opposite. I wanted you, Wriothesley, in a way which I have not wanted anything ever since stepping into Fontaine. And yet, I did not know what it would be like to fulfill that want, and I feared that it would be spoiled if I went about it in the wrong way.”
Wriothesley’s head feels like cotton wool in trying to process this information, but—he understands somehow. Understands the fright of discovering just how deeply one could crave something or someone, after a life building walls around himself to prevent malicious parties from exploiting this possible opening. In giving his heart he exposes it to be stabbed; in giving his body, his safe space, he is leaving it wide open for a specific person to violate it. That sort of trust does not come easily, and to make up for it he prepares himself to be hurt regardless. Anticipation softens the blow, and all that.
Did Neuvillette gear himself up similarly when Wriothesley first offered him a couch in his apartment down in Meropide after a late-night emergency? Or when he made his own invite for Wriothesley to join him for tea in his rooms? They definitely spent more nights together in Palais Mermonia rather than the Fortress, but he’d always chalked it up to his ability to leave Meropide running smoothly by itself for at least one morning, whereas Neuvillette would be inundated with casework and reports to attend to the moment he stepped out of his front door.
Still, even when the tireless Chief Justice resided just several floors above his own office, the fact he had a front door meant there was still some measure of insulating himself against the incessant demands of a system that revolved around him and his sense of duty. People would have to knock, they would have to wait for him to accept their requests or to gain entry, and other than his daughters who lived on the floor right below his… who else has had that privilege? To intrude upon Neuvillette’s chosen abode—not as the Iudex, not as the Hydro Dragon Sovereign, but as Neuvillette.
“So… you did have your want fulfilled and you found it… comfortable.” There is a hint of a question mark in the end of Wriothesley’s sentence, a gap created just wide enough for a denial or correction to slot in without tearing at the walls around it.
“I did. I do.”
Neuvillette’s hands squeeze his joined palms, affection clear in their grip, and the gap starts to close itself.
Still, Wriothesley can’t seem to resist throwing up a few token hurdles even as an empty gesture. “You know, people usually call something comfortable when they’re used to having it regularly. Like it doesn’t require further thought.” Like it can be easily taken for granted, he doesn’t say out loud.
The dragon’s eyes widen, and the grip around Wriothesley’s hands tightens just a bit. “Then it is not the right word. What should I call it… comforting? Is that too close in meaning? I confess I find myself at a loss for what the right descriptor should be—to convey that I do find myself devoting a considerable amount of thought towards our shared nights. Whether I am disturbing your responsibilities, whether I am imposing on your hospitality, or whether I am keeping you from other matters you wish to pursue. Of late however, I have discovered that I can contemplate such arrangements with greater ease than before.”
“How so?”
“Well, requesting the presence of the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide to a gathering of Melusines in the staff dormitories is probably rather unorthodox.” A small smile blossoms on Neuvillette’s face, delicate in the rosy light of the sitting room lamp. “But inviting a friend of the Melusines to join us for refreshments and conversation, after he has kindly helped to escort some of our guests to the venue, is simply the etiquette of a good host. Is it not?”
Wriothesley can’t help laughing, his voice merry with mirth. “Well put, Monsieur. But now that the guests have retired for the night, what further conversation shall we have?”
Neuvillette laughs as well, and what a wonderful sound it is. Wriothesley wants to pluck it from the air and gulp it down his throat like nectar, but the warm lips that meet his are more than an acceptable substitute. His hands are no longer held, instead free to roam down expanses of silk covering a lithe body he’s coming to know as well as his own, until he finds buttons and pops them open even as the buttons on his vest are undone as well.
Yes, this is indeed comfortable. The ease with which they disrobe each other, the languid pleasure in every kiss they trade, the relief of finally feeling hands on skin instead of through fabric. This is a comfort both of them hold dear to their hearts, and he’s known this long before he’s ever thought to put words to it.
Isn’t that why he brought his gift?
The early afternoon sunlight streams in through the tinted windows of Neuvillette’s bedroom, casting its warmth on Wriothesley’s face until he finally stirs. His first thought upon waking is that it is rare to see Neuvillette still asleep beside him, as the other usually wakes before him when he stays over. He certainly did his best to tire out the Hydro Dragon last night—or rather this morning—and he is unashamedly proud of the results.
His second thought is that he’s lost track of where his pants ended up during their entanglement, and the box is still in the pocket.
Carefully, so as to not wake his beautiful slumbering partner, Wriothesley inches his way out from under the covers and over the side of the bed. Thankfully his eyes catch sight of the discarded pants almost immediately after he sits up, lying in a corner of the bedroom along with Neuvillette’s nightrobe. He’ll figure out where the rest of his clothing went later; recovery of the box is top priority right now.
When Neuvillette wakes several minutes later, it’s to the weight of Wriothesley’s arm around his waist while the other arm props up the face of his smiling Duke.
“Good morning, Neuvillette. And Happy New Year.”
The white-haired man smiles as he blinks himself into a more wakeful state, and Wriothesley moves to make room on the bed so Neuvillette can sit up under the covers.
“Good morning, Wriothesley.” He lets the covers pool around his waist, his nakedness a lovely sight in the daylight. “Happy New Year to you too.”
Wriothesley grins in return, then reaches for something on the bedside drawer. “I have something for you. I hope you’ll accept it.”
Neuvillette tilts his head inquisitively, regarding the little box Wriothesley produces with curiosity. “What is this? I thought gifts were usually exchanged on the winter solstice.”
“Oh, this isn’t for the solstice or any holiday. You’ll see when you open it.” Wriothesley’s heart is nearly leaping into his throat, but he still places the box in Neuvillette’s hand. The choice to open it, to accept it, is all up to his beloved.
Neuvillette parts his lips, looking as if another question is on the tip of his tongue as he pulls the lid open. It never gets asked, as he’s apparently struck voiceless by the sight of the ring nestled in the bed of silk within.
The seconds tick past, measured in Wriothesley’s frantic heartbeats. All thought comes to a complete standstill, until Neuvillette’s eyes rise to meet his and shatter his glass-crafted reservations with the sheer emotion pooling in them.
“I… I didn’t think to obtain one for you… Wriothesley, is this-”
“It can be many things, Neuvillette. You’ve probably heard of what exchanging rings means in human courtship rituals, but this isn’t an exchange.” He takes a deep breath, the words he’d previously rehearsed in the privacy of his office emerging from his throat in the new raiment of the confession he’d received the night before.
“I’ve been preparing this for a while now… since our talk about purchasing property in the Court here. You know how my search is going, and Sedene has been helpful with looking out for listings—but more than that, it made me realise I no longer needed to dismiss the thought of having things I wanted that are up here on the surface. Like pets, or residences, or walks in the sun… or you. And I want you to know that you have me too, that what you want is now yours.
I don’t know if either of us will ever consider taking on the legal bond of matrimony, but my love for you goes far beyond a certificate. And maybe it’s my selfish desire, but I’d like you to have something I obtained just for you as a symbol of this love. You don’t have to wear it in public, I know how the optics will look for someone in your position, but simply knowing that you accept this and keep it with you is already enough for me.”
“Wriothesley…” Who knew that a voice so soft, so vulnerable, could be such a sharp blade slicing directly into his heart? Or that he would willingly allow it, hold open his chest just for it? “I should—no, I must give you a ring in return. I’d like you to have a symbol of my love as well, the way you’ve given me this most precious gift.”
He smiles as he cups Neuvillette’s hand in his, the ring in its box still ensconced in the man’s palm. “And I would accept it gladly, but not as a prerequisite to you receiving this present. Whatever you give me will be because you wish to do so, no strings attached. Just like my gift here.”
“I accept it with every joy in my heart,” Neuvillette says earnestly, and Wriothesley finds himself drawn into a tight embrace that lasts for the period of time it takes for all their unspoken feelings to travel down their limbs, past their fingers and settle into the other’s skin in the form of shared warmth. He doesn’t think of himself as a poet, but an occasion like this? It deserves every scrap of lyricism he possesses and more.
“Will you put it on me, Wriothesley? Please.”
His heart feels fit to burst, the corners of his mouth aching from his muscles stretching as far as they can possibly go in the widest smile as he gingerly picks up the simple yet graceful band of silver. Perhaps in future Neuvillette may come to wear more rings on other fingers, but this slot between his palm and second knuckle, on the fourth finger on Neuvillette’s left hand, is his and his alone.
It’s a promise he seals with a kiss, lips alighting on cool metal as the first day of the new year illuminates them both.