Chapter Text
They had little trouble mingling as the ball was opened, more than accustomed to the ways of high society after the hundreds of years spent within those circles. The memories of before were starting to fog, but they cared very little for that. Before did not matter when they were finally here.
They snuck a glance at the elevated throne at the far end of the hall, casually, as if their eyes just happened to slide over it as they turned to take a glass of wine from one of the servants’ silver trays. The seat itself was unoccupied — Mephistopheles, it seemed, enjoyed being fashionably late to his own festivities — but the fact that they were close enough to see it sent a thrill down their spine. Soon, they would be free.
It did not take long for an ever-changing group of nobility to gather around them as they joined in on one conversation or another. They had always been a gifted entertainer, and by now their skills were refined to the point where it came naturally — a quiet smile at one so blatantly appreciating their profile, a well-timed counter to draw laughter without offending the initial speaker. It was a game, one they knew well and played gladly, and one that had helped them many times to determine who would be a worthwhile investment to look out for, and who would serve mostly, if at all, for a little bit of fun.
And so the evening went on, the duke eventually taking his place upon the throne with minor disturbance to those already busy drinking and dancing. They were very deliberate in not looking at him. Making their plea had been humiliating enough, they did not need to seem any more desperate. Besides, it would draw the wrong attention if they were caught constantly glancing directly at Mephistopheles.
They drank, and laughed and danced like they belonged, and as the night went on, fewer asked them who they were. Good. They might have a lot of practice talking around the matter, but quiet acceptance made things much easier.
Without taking notice, they strayed quite far from the main event as the hours passed — walking from one conversation to the next, twirling a pretty thing or another into more quiet corners, where words could easily be whispered over the subdued music, promises made. They left one handsome man quite dizzy with them and with a half-empty glass of champagne between his claws, before deciding that they needed a break.
They were far from tired of the ball, but there had been little time for processing all they had heard and observed so far, and the last couple songs had been danced through, so they could feel the sweat starting to pearl at their temples. Just a moment to catch their breath, to have some wine and think, and then they would be back.
What a wonderful night it had been so far. They liked the court. Maybe they would stay once free.
*
Raphael was starting to develop a headache. It could be the wine — he had stopped counting how many glasses he had emptied over idle conversations and quiet observations tonight — but it had only started when his father had entered. A curious, if recurring effect his presence seemed to have on him, especially when that lovely, bejeweled crown rested proudly atop his brow, hugging his double horns as if it had been made for him.
Raphael thought it would look so much better on his own head. He barely tasted the wine as he brought the glass to his lips again. He had moved to one of the far corners of the massive hall, one invisible to the throne, and therefore also shielding his eyes from having to see its occupant. It unfortunately did little to unsour Raphael’s mood, but the wall he was leaning against was cool, and the music at a pleasant volume, and so he had not moved from his spot in a while, even thought he was sure the conversation he had excused himself from earlier could easily bee rekindled. Maybe that was what he needed. Distraction.
When Raphael first took notice of the stranger, it was with little interest. It was not unusual for him to see new faces at Mephistopheles' balls, and while he usually jumped at the opportunity to introduce himself — who knew if one of these new guests might be useful to know down the line? — he was, quite simply, too vaguely malcontented to approach. He watched them move with light steps through the dancing crowd, apologising even though barely anyone came close to colliding with them, the smile on their dark-tinted lips too charming to make anyone wonder about that.
That did catch his attention. They were turning heads deliberately, making sure to be seen and heard, to be known even as they removed themself from the worst of the crowd. Raphael wondered how much extra effort was truly necessary for that considering that they made for a striking sight. Not all the heads turning were spoken to, many seemed to simply be following the fire-light’s dance on the thin, golden chains adorning their twisting horns, the dark blue skin of their bare chest and black, shimmering through the half-unbuttoned, sheer shirt.
It was far from the most outrageous outfit in tonight’s crowd, but it was eye-catching in its heavy contrast, the slightest movement of the wearer catching light — golden rings on their fingers, in their ears, the flowing half-cape covering their right shoulder hemmed in gold. It briefly looked like there were strands of it braided into the long, thick braid of black hair down their back.
This stranger had clearly come to make an impression tonight, their bold approach evidently successful. That, at the very least, was mildly interesting. Raphael rarely bothered with those that tried this hard, as they tended not to last particularly long in these circles, but occasionally their inevitable calamity was entertaining to watch.
After finally detaching from the crowd, they grabbed a fresh glass of wine from a servant's tray before moving farther from the dancers. Raphael noticed that even their eyes were a bright golden colour, twin flames in their dark face.
Briefly, their eyes met as the stranger brought the glass to their lips in thoughtless elegance. Raphael did not look away, and he watched curiosity flash through the strangers eyes before their wandering steps became a lot more determined. He might not be in the mood to find himself distraction, but if it passed so conveniently close he might as well motivate them to come closer still.
They took him in with what could have been considered subtlety had Raphael not stood quiet and alone against that wall, making it impossible not to realise what it was that put the vague smile of satisfaction on their lips. Raphael hid his grin behind his glass at it.
Leaving enough distance between them to be proper, the stranger leaned against the wall beside him. With some displeasure, Raphael realised that they were a good head taller than he.
“Tired of the festivities?” their voice was smooth and cool, silk brushing bare skin. Raphael's fingers around his glass twitched as he suppressed a shudder.
“No,” he said, looking at the stranger out of the corner of his eye. “I would have left if that were the case.”
They chuckled, and it was a musical sound, nearly hypnotic. “Fair.” With a small, amused grin, they met his eyes. “Catching your breath, then.”
“Much like yourself,” Raphael’s eyes briefly flickered to the sweat-slick skin of their high forehead.
They hummed in agreement, and drank. Raphael tried to figure out if he had seen them somewhere before. Surely not. He wouldn't have forgotten if so.
“I do not think I have seen you at these balls before.”
“Tonight is my first time,” they responded, excitement evident in their eyes. “It has been fun so far. Grander than most I have attended, but not horribly different in atmosphere. I had feared it'd be a bit too…” they motioned vaguely with their glass as they searched for the right word, “stiff to have a good time.”
“That would be a waste of time.”
They grinned. “Exactly.”
Silence fell again as they sipped their wine and watched the dance floor. Raphael pondered their relaxed demeanour beside him. It was rare that new guests didn't immediately recognise him.
“What is your name?” He eventually asked, with an authority befitting his status. Or what should have been his status, anyway, were his blood not muddled. Despite that, very few people dared to challenge him.
The stranger set their empty glass down, and walked to stand before Raphael. They bowed deeply, and had it not been for the playful grin on their lips, Raphael would have thought himself recognised after all.
Their voice was low when they spoke, blazing eyes looking up at him through dense, dark lashes that curved most pleasantly, “Why don’t you give me one, my lord?”
Raphael’s eyes widened briefly at such a blatant flirtation. It had been a long time since anyone had dared to be quite this bold. He considered his response for a moment.
Rare as it was for anyone to use this move on him, Raphael did like this little game. No currency was more precious than a name, and he loved playing at having power over it.
He always put his own spin on it, opting for anagrams of his own name instead of the more common ones used in this situation. The idea was to give a name reflecting one’s desire for the night. And who was more worthy of being desired than himself? He liked to remind them of their place, though more often than not his opposite was too much of a fool to realise it.
“Haarlep,” he said eventually, deciding to play. What else was he to do tonight?
They looked intrigued as they straightened up again, as if excited to have gotten a new response to an often repeated interaction. “Haarlep,” they repeated carefully, letting it melt on their tongue to taste all facetted flavours of their name for the night. He couldn't tell if they liked it. “And what is yours?” Mischief glinted in their eyes, and Raphael thought they must have some particularly lewd name for him on their mind.
As curious as he was, Raphael had never done the expected give me one before, and he would not start it now. He refused to go by any name that was not the one he had chosen himself, refused to give somebody else the pleasure of pretending to have power over him. He liked this game, but only if played one-sidedly.
“Raphael,” he said, and Haarlep looked briefly confused, then disappointed. They had evidently been excited to use whatever name they had thought of. To their credit, instead of annoyance the expression wiping the surprise off their face was intrigue and amusement.
“Raphael,” Haarlep repeated in that same, careful way they had said their own name earlier. “How unique. And I see now what you've done,” they added with a wider grin. “Smart.”
Raphael gave an appreciative hum, pleased with their reaction. Maybe they were more interesting than he had first given them credit for. And still, they seemed unaware of who they were talking to. They must be very new to court indeed if they had not yet heard of the duke's bastard. Raphael would have been offended if he weren't so very intrigued by the pretty stranger.
“Well then, Raphael,” his name sounded like a song on that tongue, nearly sinful. They held out their bejeweled hand to him. “Would you give me the honour of this dance?”
Raphael set his empty glass aside, and took the proffered hand with a nod.
Haarlep was, unsurprisingly maybe, an exceptional dancer, and Raphael was pleased to have a dance partner matching his own skill for once. He did not have to slow or worry about them keeping up, and eventually found himself allowing them to lead him through the ever-busy dancing crowd without worrying about collision.
“You seem to be in your element,” Raphael commented, mild curiosity in his voice as Haarlep turned and twirled as if it were their second nature.
They hummed, dipped him lightly before pulling him in again with a wink, “I enjoy a good party.” They chuckled, then lowered their voice, mischief in their eyes, “And besides, I have spent much time familiarising myself with this crowd earlier.”
That piqued his interest. He wondered if they had somehow known Raphael enjoyed some good gossip. Probably just a guess. “Is that so?” He hummed, taking the hand he had just let go to turn again, back now pressed to Haarlep’s warm chest. A shame that it would not last. “Care to share?”
Raphael could not see much of their expression despite straining his neck, but he could hear the delighted grin in their voice — suddenly so much closer to his ear — as they breathed, “With pleasure .”
The shock of it nearly made Raphael miss his step when Haarlep twirled him out again, and there was no hiding the surprised shudder with how quickly it came. He caught himself, though, before he could make a fool of himself, and they were very soon moving just as smoothly as they had before. Haarlep took every opportunity of closeness in the choreography to whisper and hum bits and pieces of things they had allegedly heard over the night about one guest or another, often proceeding to subtly turn them in a way that Raphael could catch a glimpse of the person in question among the dancers.
It only made the dance more dizzying, Haarlep taking great pleasure in delivering each word with appropriate conspiratory salaciousness, often leaving Raphael stuck somewhere between wishing to laugh and feeling quite breathless. Their breath was hot brushing against the shell of his ear, voice rich and fluid, the scent clinging to them ever-present as they drew Raphael closer, and started keeping him there as they danced. The dizzying sweetness from earlier had started to fade, the spice and warmth below it filling Raphael’s nostrils instead. He was lightheaded with it, throat dry as he whispered the occasional question back at Haarlep, face warm from the dance and the silky words in his ears and the soft hands pressing into his lower back.
A brief glance up at Haarlep’s flushed face, and Raphael decided that it was time for them to leave. To his luck, their dance had brought them close to one of the emptier side entrances again, and before Haarlep could pull them back into the busier crowd, Raphael hooked his finger around the black velvet choker covering their throat and pulled them down, the back of his hand brushing against the skin-warmed, sweat-slick gold chain attached to it. It sent a shock of anticipation through him, and Raphael licked his seemingly parched lips before meeting Haarlep’s expectant gaze.
“Come with me,” he breathed, and Haarlep was nodding nearly before he had finished speaking.
Haarlep’s fingers wrapped around his wrist, a barely-there caress as they hummed, “Happily.”
With a grin, Raphael let go of the choker and took their hand instead, pulling them towards the doors. The quiet of the empty hallway once the doors closed behind them was nearly eerie, but Raphael had little time to ponder it as his back was suddenly against the wall, Haarlep’s body flush against him, warm.
“What do you want?” they mumbled, tilting his head back to look him in the eyes, their own dark with desire.
Raphael forgot about getting them to his rooms, hands grabbing the soft fabric of their shirt collar urgently as he demanded, “Kiss me.”
He had barely finished speaking before their lips crushed into his, their grip tightening on Raphael’s chin as they pushed their tongue into his eager, open mouth. Moaning, Raphael reached up to wrap his fingers around one of their horns, making sure they stayed in place as he kissed back desperately, got lost in their taste, the feeling of their tongue running over his teeth. His other hand slid off their shirt to their chest, fingertips running over flushed skin and the warm metal decorating it.
Haarlep’s free hand had found its way to his thigh, their knee between his legs, and Raphael could but push himself into their touch as their hand followed the shape of his thigh below the skirt of the embroidered doublet. They let go of his chin to undo the belt at his waist, fingers running up the row of golden buttons at his front. His lower lip between their teeth, and Raphael gasped, claws scraping against their horn, the skin of their chest as he shuddered, putting more of his weight on the wall behind him.
It was far from the most comfortable of positions, which finally made him break the kiss as he remembered that they were really not that far from his very comfortable bed. After a second to catch his breath, Haarlep’s coming in quick bursts, too, he caught their confused, impatient eyes.
“Come,” was all Raphael managed to get over his lips, to which Haarlep only raised an elegant brow without moving an inch.
Ignoring that, Raphael pushed them away so he could detach from the wall, before pulling them close behind him as he continued his way down the hallway. He felt nearly cold now, without their body pressed against his.
*
They woke to an uncoordinated hand slapping their jaw, and for a disorienting moment, they did not know where they were. Or rather, they did not know when they were, strange, hazy half-memories of too-heavy hands and pain, and themself, bruised and shivering. The ceiling was not right for it, high and dark as they blinked themself closer to conscience with some effort.
It took another long moment before they could make sense of their surroundings. The ceiling was no ceiling at all, but the canopy of Raphael’s luxurious bed, dark wood looking darker still in the shade of the dark red fabric hangings shielding them from the early morning light coming in through the bedroom windows.
Slowly, their heartbeat calmed again as they exhaled, memories of the evening and night returning to them much more clearly than whatever phantoms they had woken up to. Raphael’s hand still lay limply on their collarbone where it had slid or fallen to, and they covered it with one of their own, afraid of it moving again. Raphael was still fast asleep, they could tell by his breathing. They guessed that, considering how often his tossing and turning and readjusting had half-woken them in the night, him slapping them in the face in his sleep was not particularly surprising.
The attempt to sit up was quickly abandoned as they noticed the tail wrapped around their thigh. They did not want to wake him, and besides, they still felt sluggish from the previous night's festivities and would not have to be anywhere before evening. So they relaxed back into the plush bed, and turned their head to look at their unconscious captor.
Raphael had gotten so hopelessly entangled in the sheets, they could scarcely make sense of his position. He had pressed his face into the space where pillow and mattress met, and they thought they could feel a claw digging slightly into their ankle. The arm they weren’t holding was nowhere to be seen, and his hair was a mess of chestnut brown locks caught in his horns or stuck to his neck and pillow.
He was a strange one. Even through the haze of wine and excitement last night, they had felt like they had come across his name before. Uncommon as it was, they doubted that feeling was sourceless, but still they had not figured out where they might have heard it.
It did not help that there was something different about him, his sense of superiority a lot sharper than what they had otherwise found in the court’s crowd yesterday. There was a strange tension to it, something that felt like they should know it. He spoke in a very particular tone and chose his words carefully, played by his own rules and expected the other to adapt accordingly.
They frowned, trying to make any sense of it all. There had been something, they knew. But still, their memory came up blank as a mild headache began at their temples.
They ran the little they had seen of the apartment last night through their mind, wondering if it might give them a clue. The only thing aside from the sheer opulence of the rooms Raphael had led them into and through that had caught their eye had been the portrait over the fireplace, a rather menacing-looking piece of the duke, glaring right down at anyone who dared to enter the main chamber.
A fervent royalist, perhaps? It seemed unlikely. Those tended to speak of that particular passion freely and often, especially when the object of their worship was present and had provided the drink in their hands and the music they were dancing to. Raphael had said none of it last night.
And besides, they would not have forgotten if Raphael had been one of the names likely to put them and keep them in the duke’s good graces. Their chance to get here may have come a lot more quickly than they had dared to hope, but they had not come unprepared. After all, they had been dreaming of their chance to get their name ever since they had heard that those born to names had none but themselves to obey.
It was less of a problem now than it used to be. They used to have no say in who would end up their master, passed to the highest bidder once their old one thought them too much work to maintain for the work they did. Few had been kind, and work had been harsh, and it was somewhere in those dirty, crowded rooms that they had first heard that there was a way out. That those born nameless did not have to stay so forever, that some were lucky to make it all the way to court and plead their case to one of the dukes and duchesses, who could give them their name and set them free.
Their days of unkind masters and difficult work lay so far behind them they often struggled to accept the memories as their own. Still, their desire to belong to themself had never left, even as they had grown very comfortable in manipulating their way into better hands who often gave them so much freedom they could nearly forget they weren’t actually free.
But they were not. Their last hurdle to achieving that goal would be to please their new master, the duke. And they had been trying to learn as much as they could about how to do that for years.
They had not come to court unprepared. So why could they not remember where they had heard Raphael’s name before?
He stirred beside them, tail tightening around their leg, knee bumping into their hip as he tried to pull his hand back. They sighed and let it go, hoping he did not wake the same way he slept. Much stirring and shifting happened among the mess of sheets Raphael had wrapped himself in, but there were no more surprise attacks and by the time he blinked his orange eyes open he was too awake to throw his limbs about again.
Sleep clearly still clung to him as he tried to brush the hair out of his tired eyes, movement still sloppy and slow. He gave up with a yawn, letting his hand rest on the pillow beside his face. Another blink, two, and they knew they had been seen, their presence registered beside him. He looked surprised in all his sleepiness.
“You’re still here.”
It was not a question, and still they felt like they were supposed to answer. “You are holding me captive.” They raised their leg, still wrapped in Raphael’s tail. “I did not want to wake you early.”
He only hummed, tuneless, and let go of them. They made no sign of moving and he grinned. When he spoke, his tongue was still heavy with sleep, “I hope you slept well, Haarlep?”
They gave him a confused look. The night was over, their game ended. Their reaction clearly amused him, and they wondered if he did this often. “I think the name suits you,” Haarlep frowned, unsure if they were being insulted, “so unless you want to give me another one, you will be Haarlep to me.”
He watched them expectantly, and they felt confident that this was a game he had played before, and that this was the point where it usually ended. They, however, had no other name to give. Born without a true name, it was impossible for them to assume a fake one themself. That privilege was for people like Raphael, who had known their name from the start, and been free to choose one to share with others for just as long.
So they stayed silent, a slight grin on their lips they hoped to be read as playful.
Raphael seemed intrigued by their reaction. He was seemingly used to being obeyed. “How did you sleep?”
They raised a brow, propped themself up on their elbow. “Well, I was punched and kicked several times.”
Unmoved by the accusation, Raphael idly ran his fingers down their chest, claws catching in the fine dark hairs there. “And yet, I see no unwanted bruises, so it cannot have been too bad.”
Haarlep had to snort at that. What a brat. He had for sure been born and bred at court.
“I've had worse.” They took his hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, giving him a meaningful look. “But I've also had better.”
Raphael’s expression darkened, but only briefly. He pulled his hand away and brushed the hair out of his forehead with a sigh. “Are you hungry?”
They considered for a moment. “I could eat.”
“Then you shall,” he said, pushing the rest of the covers off of his legs before getting up from bed. With a yawn, he slipped on a deep blue silk dressing gown. Haarlep watched as he walked around the bed through the heavy curtains, mumbling something about how breakfast was probably already going cold in the next room.
*
Raphael closed the bedroom door quietly behind himself, head not not quite pounding, but still not necessarily appreciative of loud noise. There had not been nearly enough sleeping tonight, something he did not regret, but that was an ill fit with his full schedule this evening.
He stretched himself, enjoying the pleasant ache in his muscles as he moved them. Breakfast was, as expected, already waiting in the main room, the candles on the table lit, the fire burning. As usual, Raphael did not look at the painting over the fireplace as he rounded the table and took his customary seat, eyes to the door he had just walked through, the portrait on the wall to his side.
Pouring himself coffee, he pondered the stranger in his bed. Unsurprisingly, there had been little talking last night and Raphael was struggling to remember anything they might have mentioned about themself. There was little doubt that they moved in higher circles regularly, even if the ball last night had been their first one at court.
Raphael had better things to do than keeping up with every single individual trying to get into court’s favour, but he still felt like he should have heard of this one, seen them around at some event or another usually attended by the same or at least a similar crowd. He was confident he would not have forgotten them had that been the case.
He was mostly through his first cup of coffee when the bedroom door opened. Considering how long they had taken, Raphael had expected them to emerge fully dressed in yesterday's clothes. It was a little surprising, then, to see they had not put on anything. Their hair seemed — regrettably — more in order than before, thick black strands running down their back in barely-there waves. Raphael's skin tingled at the memory of it brushing against him, of how it had nearly felt like cool water between his fingers.
He motioned for the seat across from him, refusing to seem fazed at their state of undress. “Be my guest, Haarlep.”
They sat, a grin on their lips, eyes half lidded as they met his. “You enjoy that name, don't you?”
Raphael finished his coffee and licked his lips, “I never tire of hearing my own name, no matter how contorted.”
After a confused second of processing those words, Haarlep burst into laughter. They shook their head and reached for one of the beautiful oranges on the table, dug their claw into its skin before beginning to peel it. Raphael bit back commenting on how using a knife would have been neater.
“Well,” they were still chuckling, crossed their legs under the table as they leaned in a little closer. “I can evidently give you plenty of that.”
Raphael straightened up in his seat as he felt something sharp dragging over the hairs on his calf. He hid his surprised, shaking exhale behind a sticky pastry as Haarlep’s toe found its way beneath the hem of his dressing gown.
Chewing and swallowing gave him enough time to regain composure, even under Haarlep’s attentive, mirth-filled gaze. This was not what Raphael had set out to do by keeping them for breakfast. He needed to focus.
“So,” he said, holding out his cup when Haarlep finished pouring themself coffee. It got him a raised brow, but they did pour him some, too. How obedient. “Where are you from?”
Haarlep leaned back in their chair, placed one of the orange segments on their tongue. They watched him as they chewed, seemingly pondering their response, or possibly just taking him in long enough to make the slight heat he could feel in his face more visible. Raphael drank his coffee, and waited.
There was nothing suspicious about their answers once they came. Raphael pushed and prodded more than was proper when talking to one you still called by the name you gave them, but he was used to getting away with such a breach of decorum — though why Haarlep was happy to let him get away with it while still seemingly unaware about who they were talking to did puzzle him a little — and Haarlep never seemed particularly affected by the probing questions.
The answers did not feel rehearsed, and if anyone seemed suspiciously evasive of responding, it was Raphael, who did not feel like revealing his rather unique stance at court just yet, even though Haarlep seemed equally as curious about him as he was about them. But it was so rare to speak to somebody who did not know, or at the very least seemed not to care. Refreshing.
Breakfast passed as such, in seemingly innocuous questions and their innocent answers, in idle conversation in-between lavish bites, in overt teasing, Haarlep’s foot still occasionally brushing against his leg. Raphael was pleased by the end of it, though he knew already that he would — as, to be fair, he did with everyone — look into how much merit Haarlep’s story had. Truth was hard to come by at court, and Raphael much preferred knowing who exactly he was up against before deciding his next move.
They walked back to the bedroom when the meal was finished, Haarlep complimenting the quality of the fruit as they walked through the door before him. Their nakedness had briefly startled him after they had risen from their chair. He had forgotten about it, somehow.
“Why did you not get dressed before?” He asked as Haarlep bent to pick their trousers up from the floor with decidedly more flourish than was strictly necessary.
“Why limit your enjoyment of the sight to last night?” They nearly sang in that musical voice of theirs, tail swaying teasingly as they looked back at him with a grin. “After all, it was rather dark.”
A huffed laugh escaped Raphael’s lips, but he said nothing, only leaned against one of the heavy posts of his bed and crossed his arms in front of his chest, watching as Haarlep gathered their things.
They got dressed — slowly — and Raphael had nothing else to look at, so he watched their muscles shift with each movement, quietly appreciating. He shifted in his spot, and stepped on something hard among the plush rug. Frowning, he looked down only to find one of Haarlep’s jewellery chains among the dark red fibres. He picked it up — it was one of the finer ones they had been wearing in their hair — and ran his thumb over the beautiful, delicate handiwork.
He mumbled, “You forgot something…”
Haarlep was in the process of getting their hair out of the shirt they had just put on. “If I forget something?” They turned around, and Raphael raised a brow at their very deliberate words. They had not misheard him. “I guess I'll just have to come back and pick it up.”
A wink and a meaningful look from them, and a grin pulled at Raphael's lips. They watched as he let the golden chain slide out of his hand and into the pocket of his dressing gown.
“I guess you will,” he hummed, and when Haarlep met his eye again, their lips wore a matching grin.
Raphael brought them to the door once they were dressed, did not miss their curious look at the portrait as they passed it. Haarlep did not ask, and they said their goodbyes with certainty of seeing each other again.
Chapter 2
Notes:
a very happy weekend to all, and to more court shenanigans <3
Chapter Text
Raphael sighed as he stepped into the empty library, shoulders relaxing. It had been a relentlessly busy two weeks, and he was glad for the quiet. Of course, he only had himself to blame, but Raphael liked keeping himself busy, made a point of seeming and being involved at court, being seen and heard. Trying to get his hands on the crown would not work if he were a stranger to these people, and it was a good way to hear all kinds of rumours before they were made official.
Raphael had always had a way to make people talk, and he knew exactly who he had to go to to hear news about the neverending war and who he needed to join for tea to know which of the nobles were most eager for his father’s favour this month. Not all was useful information, but Raphael still made a point of committing it all to memory, not taking any chances should one tidbit or another seem a convenient key to get what he wanted later on.
The other reason he made a point of being involved and visible was that he wanted Mephistopheles to know. Raphael had perfected navigating court without ever running into him, but he wanted him to know he was out and about, busying himself, rather than sitting in his rooms all day, plotting his father’s demise. Not that Mephistopheles was unaware of what Raphael wanted. But as long as his spies, plentiful and blindly loyal, kept reporting seeing Raphael at parties and readings, meetings and performances, Raphael assumed he’d be seen as a minor threat at best.
Mephistopheles had much more pressing things to concern himself with right now. He used to keep a closer eye on him, but as decades passed the duke contented himself with having Raphael close enough to know what he was doing. Close enough to interfere should he become a problem.
Idly, Raphael wandered amidst the tall, dark shelves of the massive library. He had always — begrudgingly — adored this place, the seemingly endless bookshelves that took up whole walls, the way it had grown to take up most of the west wing of the main building. It was impossible to tell how empty the place was with its labyrinthine floorplan, and Raphael often came here when he wanted some quiet. Mephistopheles' ever-growing collection made sure that he was never bored, and Raphael wasn’t beyond revisiting old favourites when the mood struck him. He felt at peace here.
As always, his steps slowed as he approached those shelves dedicated to magic. It was a relatively small section of the library — there were rumours of Mephistopheles having a much bigger, private collection on this topic in his own rooms — and yet the one Raphael had probably read and studied the most. Every single book on these shelves he had looked through over and over in the hopes of learning more about the magic in his own veins, the crown that would complete it.
He had learned frustratingly little in his endeavours. The library collection spoke mostly of the more commonly found magic, the peculiar ability of those born without knowing their true name to change their shape. Interesting as the topic was — and he had lost himself quite thoroughly in many a theory, to the philosophising of where the power’s origin might lie — it was not personally relevant to him. It did not answer any of the questions that plagued him. Questions he would have loved to answer before getting his hands on that crown. How did it work? What about it resonated with the magic in the wearer’s blood strongly enough to make them know anyone’s true name?
How pure did the royal blood have to be?
Raphael set his jaw. He had come to the conclusion that he would have to find answers to said questions once the crown was his. It would work on him. Even without the help of the crown, he sometimes felt the vague shape of other people’s names — the ones they were born knowing, the ones giving them the freedom to live their own lives. A well-kept secret, hidden behind aliases and shared with nobody for the fear of what power it might give others over them.
Power Raphael was entitled to. And he would have it.
With a sigh, he turned away from the familiar shelves. There was nothing new here, and right now he did not feel like committing to another frustrating read consisting of mostly reading between the lines and applying ill-fitting theories to things he could barely grasp himself.
No, Raphael needed to relax. He walked to another well-visited corner of the library — poetry — and found an unfamiliar volume on the first shelf. Its leather binding was worn smooth, but Raphael was sure it had to be a new addition.
Satisfied with his choice — and hopeful that something lyrical might pull his mind away from its ever-present frustration for a little bit — he moved further into the library, towards one of the more hidden alcoves he enjoyed sitting in. He knew that at this hour, the library tended to be empty, but he liked making sure that he would not be disturbed during his precious free time.
Comfortable in his favourite seat, Raphael opened the book with the same quiet thrill he always felt before diving into a new story. It did not take long for him to get thoroughly lost in the verses, the tranquil room eventually falling away, too, as he turned page after page.
He did hear the steps, but he chose to ignore them, hoping they would simply pass by the alcove. It was, after all, easy to miss, the dark shelf blocking the view of those walking by.
Unfortunately, as was Raphael’s luck, the steps came closer, then stopped undeniably in front of him. With a sigh, holding the book still open to make clear that he meant to keep the interruption short, he looked up.
Whatever forcibly polite greeting he could already taste on his tongue died when his eyes met familiar yellow ones. Haarlep. Surprisingly, he had not run into them since last time. Usually those new to court and eager to better their position quickly were there at every event at once, it seemed, but they had evaded him.
Neither had Raphael found out any more about the stranger at hand. Most he had asked, passively, casually, had only known them from the same ball. Nobody could remember their name. It was all just a little odd, enough to pique his curiosity, though he had not had time to truly indulge the mystery.
“I have come to give my apologies,” they said with a deeply insincere grin on those pretty lips, bending at their waist in a low, ironic bow, voice dropping, “my prince.”
Raphael’s eyes widened briefly, less at them acknowledging his identity — Raphael was not as elusive as they were, anyone asked could and would readily have enlightened them on who he was — but their reaction to it. It was peculiar. In those very rare occasions anyone had mistook him for someone else, their apologies for the mistake had usually come grovelling, a nervousness, a fear that spoke of Mephistopheles’ grip on his people, and their uncertainty on his relationship to his bastard son. Their mutual dislike was a well-spread rumour, but how sure of its truth could anyone really be when the son never ventured far from his father's court?
There was no doubt that Haarlep had heard it all, and more, as gossip at court always added to the story. Yet, there were none of the expected reactions to their demeanour as they straightened with flourish. The deep blue halfcloak covering one shoulder billowed with the movement, shifted as they brushed the loose hair that had slid forward behind their ears again. Raphael's fingers tingled with the memory of how smooth it had felt in his hands.
“Apologies?” Raphael kept his irritation at the mockery carefully out of his voice, very aware of the challenge in their eyes. Besides, his intrigue at their strange behaviour was just a little stronger than the insult to his person.
“I meant no offence by being so…forward, last time.” They nearly sang it, closing the rest of the distance between them with a step before lowering themself into Raphael's lap with a grin that made clear that they might not have meant offence last time, but they certainly did now.
Raphael did not stop them, wondering where this was going. Their weight was pleasant, their warmth welcome, and he tried to hide the catch of his breath in his throat when they settled themself comfortably. Absently, he noted how dressed they were compared to the ball. All his memories of them — and he had been pondering those too much — were of their gold-adorned bare chest, and seeing it now so covered, blue jerkin tailored to fit snugly up to the standing collar hugging their throat, was mildly disorienting. Odd, too, was the choice of the more naturalistic twisting vine embroidery when geometric patterns were much more commonly worn at court lately. Maybe they were too new here to know.
His ponderings were interrupted by Haarlep’s fingers at his chin, tilting his head back so their eyes met. There was a satisfaction in their expression that made Raphael quite aware of how very warm he suddenly felt. But there was also still that expectant glimmer in their eyes, challenge and mischief.
“Had I known I was dealing with royal blood…” Their claw wandered languidly down the arched curve of his throat, hand flat against his chest as it continued its journey down his front.
Raphael could not help but tense, fingers digging into the armrests as he tried to keep his breathing under control. They did not finish the sentence, the silence hanging heavy between their too-close faces, sweet temptation in that near-purr of their voice as their hand wandered lower.
Raphael licked his lips, refusing to be overcome. “What would you have done, Haarlep?” he sounded more breathy than sharp as he had intended to sound, and his face only felt warmer with it. Or maybe it was the sound of Haarlep’s claw clinking against the metal of his belt.
The grin on their lips widened in satisfaction, glee. They had hoped for this reaction. “I would have given all due respect, of course,” they hummed, sliding off his lap, their hands on his thighs for leverage, pushing them apart as they went to their knees on the floor. They took in Raphael’s surprised, flushed face with evident pleasure from under dense lashes, voice low and smooth as they added, “by sinking to my knees.”
Their hands still lay on his thighs, touch light but still undeniably there, fingers warm. Raphael noted that their fingers and wrists were as adorned in gold as they had been last time. He exhaled, met their sparkling, expectant eyes again. He felt dizzy with them, that same sweet perfume in his nose.
He gave a quick glance to the empty room surrounding them before setting his elbow on the armrest, pointedly unhurried, and repressing the slight tremble running through him. He propped his head onto his palm, his skin too warm, his breaths a little too shallow, but he did not break eye contact as he settled deeper into the chair.
“You are not too late for that.” This time, he succeeded in keeping his tone steady, met Haarlep’s grin with a challenging one of his own.
Again, their eyes lit up and Raphael’s eyelids fluttered when their fingers dug into his thighs, sliding up. He felt the tip of their tail slip beneath his trouser leg and quickly covered his mouth to muffle his surprised gasp. Haarlep chuckled low as they undid his belt.
*
They left the library with light steps, relief and triumph putting some spring into them. It had been risky, it had been daring to act on conclusions they had drawn from the little time they had spent with Raphael, the few things they had heard about his person.
Raphael had kept his face so forcibly neutral through most of it just now, and they had worried they might have miscalculated. Once or twice they thought they had caught disapproval, even irritation in those warm, orange eyes. It was half the fun, of course, but they had held their breath, expecting to be told off.
They had considered the consequences before going. It seemed unlikely to anger the duke, multiple people had been happy to enlighten them on the frigid relationship between father and son. There was, of course, no certainty to it — that portrait in Raphael's room made such rumours seem a little strange — but they had still decided to dare, hoping that if their advances were unwelcome, it'd only anger Raphael himself.
It would have been a tragedy to end such a promising acquaintanceship so quickly, but they simply had to try. The thrill of it all — of playing this little game for no other reason but that it amused them — was just irresistible. There was no more need to pretend, to choose who to give their full attention to carefully. No, their current master would be their final one, and they could do with their free time as they desired.
Raphael had kept them on their toes for a bit there, but it only made his yielding more delicious. Bastard prince or not, he was evidently not above having some fun. They were already pondering a next time as they quickened their steps down the hall.
There was no doubt that they were already late for their tea appointment, time forgotten as they had teased and indulged, lingered to enjoy the pleasure-hazed eyes lifting to vaguely meet theirs as they pressed a kiss to the toothmarks Raphael had left in his own hand. He had still been flushed and panting and they had wanted nothing more than to slide back into his lap and make him breathless again.
Alas, they did not want to overstay their welcome, and before they had been told where to most likely find Raphael alone, they had already accepted an invitation by their old master. They had seen her only once since the duke had claimed them, and she had expressed the wish to catch up in that near sulking tone she so often used when things were not going exactly as she wanted. She missed them, it was evident. And they were very late, trying to smooth the slight mess Raphael made of their hair as they hurried down the hall.
Lady Lythil lived in one of the outer buildings, far from the central library they had lost so much time in. By the time they finally made it to the door, they could at least safely say that any signs of flusterment were from the running, rather than their previous stop.
The servant who let them in was familiar and they returned her smile as she led them to where their host was waiting. The cushioned window seat had always been among their favourite places within these rooms they had called home for just a little while, and they were delighted to find Lythil waiting there, the low table in front of the cosy little alcove set.
“I guess I no longer have the privilege of your punctuality,” she sighed as they sat down next to her, turning to face her as she was facing them.
They bowed their head, an apologetic smile on their lips. “I was held up, my lady. I came as fast as I could.”
She chuckled, waved for them to go ahead and serve the tea. They did, going through the familiar motions and realising how long it had been. It was nearly dizzying to think that so little time had passed since they had been regularly waiting on her, and yet it felt like a different lifetime. It was, they guessed.
After they were both served, she leaned back, eyeing them more closely. She raised a thin brow. “You are rather overdressed for afternoon tea.”
They laughed. She had never been one to mince her words, and she was right. They had pondered long what to wear for their little visit to the library, what might leave an…impression. Considering Raphael’s wandering eyes, they assumed the choice had been appropriate. The memory made them grin.
“Does it do anything to offset my tardiness?”
“No.” She took a sip of her tea and met their eyes with a smile. “How is proper court life treating you? You do look good.”
“It is not so different from before,” they offered, breaking off a piece of cake. “I'm still familiarising myself with everything, but overall I don't think a party at court differs much from those of lesser nobles.”
“I found them much the same myself.”
She had not mingled with court for long, though she had spent all her life in its outskirts. That's why they had wanted her to choose them. They had been among the higher circles for long, but breaking through that last barrier into the duke's sight seemed nigh impossible. Those residing at court seemed to stick mostly to those Nameless born and bred within the gilded halls for company. She had not quite been there yet when they had met, but close enough to give them hope.
In the end, all had worked out in their favour.
“How have you been?” They returned, licking a crumb off their fingertip. “Where's the new pet?” They gave a room a cursory glance, but they knew it was empty. With a teasing chuckle, they added, “I got quite the start when I first saw him.”
It had become evident that she was not happy with them leaving when they had seen their replacement walk with her sometime last week. A mirror image of theirs on first glance, he had met their eyes only to realise that they were not quite right. The eyes were always difficult to get correctly when changing shape, and it was often more hassle than it was worth it to fix them. Few of those rich enough to afford a companion cared much about the eyes.
She was giving them a thoughtful look. “Do you think it too much?”
They shrugged. Even if they had disapproved of it, there was nothing they could do. And really, they didn't care. Lythil had always enjoyed making them change shape, and they were sure she'd tire of their copy soon enough and would make him try something else. Her whims could be rather tiring to please, and they had always enjoyed shifting from one form to another.
The staying in them they liked less. They already lacked a name, so shedding their body for another for too long felt like they were shedding whatever crumb of a self they had.
“He is yours to command and shape as you please, my lady.” They could not bite back a grin at her thoughtful frown. She had always listened to them more than any that had come before her. It had sometimes been easy to forget they were far from equals.
“I guess so…” she hugged one of the pillows close, leaned forward to whisper, “I'd rather have you back, I admit.”
She still spoke more boldly than was strictly good for her in high society, and they hid their smile behind their cup, drank before responding, “The duke's not known to give back what he takes.”
And Lythil could not even dare to dream of requesting them being returned. It was not unheard of for old and new masters to quarrel over a deal already taken, but it was rare enough in polite society to warrant a scandal. After all, what good reason could there be to go back on one’s word? Had the money not been sufficient after all? Or too much, if the buyer was the one trying to undo it? Were there more personal reasons — had someone gotten a little too attached to their pet, had they let them hear or see something they’d rather not risk being known? Oh, sure, Nameless were sworn to secrecy, but having nothing, they did not need much bribing to loosen their tongues. One simply had to arrange to not get caught.
One way or another, challenging the duke himself was a death sentence. And Lythil did not miss them enough to risk her head after coming this far.
“No. I guess not.” With a dramatic sigh, she leaned back again, “I should have kept you more to myself.”
They had to laugh. “As you are doing with your new one?”
Lythil pursed her lips, accepting the plate with the rest of the cake they offered her. “You know how I am, I care little for what you do as long as you are here when I require you.”
She broke off a piece of cake and chewed, watching them all the while. They had always liked this about her. She had been self-aware of her negligent approach towards them, and had seen no fault in it. They had enjoyed the extra freedom it had provided, and it would have probably taken them much longer to catch the duke’s attention had she been as paranoid and needy as some of their masters before her.
“It seems like your new master is much the same. I've seen you out and about a lot.” She gave them a curious look, but did not dare to ask the question she would like to know the answer to. It was bad decorum to inquire into another master’s keeping of their pet, and downright dangerous to dare question the duke.
Equally, she was well aware that they could not speak freely of their new life. They were quite fond of keeping their head on their shoulders. Getting a name only to decorate their headstone would be a waste.
“So far my presence has not been much requested, but my orders have reached me all the same.” The brief silence that followed weighed with unasked questions they both knew could not be discussed. So they changed the topic, pouring themself more tea. “But I have not seen you much. Busy?”
Lythil gave in, held out her cup for a refill too. “Oh, you have no idea. Do you remember that trading agreement I had been working on even before the move to court?”
They did, and raised a brow, leaning back. “Did it fall through again ?”
She took a deep gulp of the too-hot tea and hissed, motioning vaguely, “Sort of. It's…complicated…”
And so they slipped back into old patterns, she talking and them listening, neither staying on topic for particularly long as some piece of gossip or another suddenly seemed more interesting. It was familiar, and they had not realised how tense their new environments and company had left them until they found themself melting into the much-loved seat, chattering away with her as they had done for decades before. Maybe they missed her, too.
By the time they left her, it was already getting late. It seemed to be a bad day to keep time for them, but at least they had no more engagements to attend to until much later in the evening. And before that, they wanted to get some rest.
Their need to recharge brought them back to the massive main building, to the far end of the less used wing that looked just a little older than the rest. They cared little for where the rooms that had been assigned to them were, considering it was the first time in their life that they had rooms that were properly their own. Even now they could not help the thrill running through them as they stepped over the door's threshold.
They had done very little to it since moving in. It had an open, airy feel to it and was kept mostly in rich blues and purples. The colours were fading with age, and the openness was a testament to its age and disuse, far from the more dense, near-oppressive, cosy floorplans currently in fashion.
It mattered little. It was theirs, even if they had not spent much time in it so far. Their things had been moved, and it was a luxury to have this much space for their extensive wardrobe and other personal belongings they had amassed over centuries of being good enough at their job to be expensive, and doing with their pay as they pleased.
With an exhausted sigh, they let themself fall into the plush, teal reclining couch in front of the hearth. They were exhausted, and wished for little more than to finally indulge in their own space for a little while. They knew it wasn't truly theirs, but so far they had had no orders to bring anyone here, and so it still seemed a sanctuary to them.
They had been itching to make it more theirs, looked with yearning at the only partly unpacked paints next to the easel by the window, wondered where their flute might be. It was all still a bit of a mess, their orders to get seemingly every single person familiarised with their presence at court getting in the way of organisation, much less indulgence.
It unnerved them a little if they dared pondering it too much. A little bit of spywork often came with the path they had chosen, even when they had warmed less pompous beds, but this was much more intentional preparation for it than they were used to.
They had never come closer to the duke than to stand at the bottom of the stairs below his throne. While he was not the first master with little interest in them personally, they had no doubt that the ways he'd put them to work would probably differ from how things had been for them so far.
It'd be alright. They'd always been adaptable, they'd always loved loosening tongues, even for their own pleasure. They'd excel. And then, at last, they'd be free.
They leaned back and looked at the light blue ceiling without really seeing it. They wished they could sleep, but the risk of being sluggish when they had to move out again was too great. So they sat, awake but daring to let themself relax, quieting thoughts they were barely able to form.
Chapter 3
Notes:
needed a break from elections and remembered these two were waiting to be posted < 3
Chapter Text
Raphael had not intended to come to this particular party. He had better things to do, and had never had much of a taste for these more casual gatherings where the pretence of relaxed familiarity added such an unnecessary veneer to everything. Annoying as the stiff etiquette of a ball or a dinner could be, he had always preferred them to this kind of loser get-together.
He did still attend them regularly, tongues often much looser in these kinds of contexts, but this one had seemed rather too small and unremarkable to be worth his time.
Except, of course, that Haarlep was in attendance. He had not yet come to a conclusion on whether he should still call them that. But then again, they would not have another name to give him, so it'd have to do.
They were easy to find in the thin crowd, reclining on a sofa in the corner, engaged in some conversation with two others lounging around them. The jerkin hugging their torso tightly was a pretty, purplish-pink berry shade, the gold embroidery mostly kept to the hem and edges. It was fastened with ties at the waist, the looser white shirt beneath it otherwise uncovered. The chosen motive was once again more naturalistic, though not as outlandish as what Raphael had seen on them last time. He tightened his grip on his glass at the memory.
Haarlep’s conversation partners got called over to the piano that was being irritably played — it had not take much, a quiet whisper here, a gentle suggestion there. Raphael did not necessarily want his attendance remembered, nor his focus on the stranger on the sofa taken note of.
He walked over once he was sure few, if any of the guests would notice. Haarlep did, of course, after their attention slid off the crowd around the tortured instrument, golden eyes wandering over the room as if searching for the next person to engage, to entertain. They had evidently done so for a very long time, and Raphael wondered if they felt a little lost when left alone like this.
Their eyes lit up when they saw him approaching, and it could have looked genuine if Raphael hadn't known better now. Still, he returned their grin with one of his own, came to a stop across from them as they sat up and patted the space beside them for him to sit. He did not take the offer.
“Good evening,” he started, happy with how neutral his voice sounded, “I'm afraid you may have forgotten something in my rooms on your last visit, Haarlep.” Did they notice how he had to fight not to spit their name?
No. They were too excited to hear words they had been waiting for.
They batted their lashes, “And shall I stop by to pick it up sometime, my lord?”
How they cherished to tease and taunt him, how low their voice sounded. Raphael held their mischief-filled eyes as he shook his head, leaned in towards their ear. He whispered his instructions precisely, keeping his tone appropriately hushed without bothering to meet their seductiveness.
Clearly, the surprise turn of events was enough to distract them from any suspicions, as when Raphael pulled back, they met his eyes with lewd curiosity.
“My…” they hummed, following the rim of the wineglass on the table next to the sofa with their finger. “As you wish. Tonight?”
“Later. Do not come after me right away, I have something else to do.”
They only raised a brow, but nodded and Raphael took the opportunity to turn around and leave as quietly as he had entered. It was a relief to finally be out of earshot of the horrific music, if it could be called that, and he made straight for his rooms.
He had not fully decided how, precisely, to confront his resident liar, and he had not brought the tiny gold chain with him to invite them to said confrontation. The walk in the opposite direction to pick it up, and a brief moment to freshen up in his own space would hopefully fill in the empty spaces for how tonight would go. He just couldn't think about it hard enough to lose himself to anger right away. It'd be undignified.
The hallways to his rooms were quiet, the ones to get to the meeting point he had ordered them to quieter still. Even during the day, few found themselves wandering the older wing of the main building. Many of the rooms had grown obsolete, lesser in their grandeur as court expanded. Most of the balconies had lost any pleasant views to new buildings and towers being built, and so even those solitary souls who used to come to look out rarely came here anymore.
Raphael made for one of those balconies, leaned his arms on its black reiling. There was nothing to see but the back of another building from it. He still remembered when, with some squinting, he had been able to glimpse the nearby river from here, hidden among the rocky land and stubborn shrubs.
Not much time had passed before he heard the steps approach behind him. Raphael thought he could recognise them, but he knew that it was just his expectation of Haarlep following his instructions. He did not turn around as the steps drew closer, looking up at the couple of stars visible in the dark sky instead.
“You chose a rather sombre place for this exchange, princeling.” There was some uncertainty in their voice, under its smooth and playful tone, and Raphael did not speak while he sensed them leaning against the reiling next to him. “Romantic, I guess,” they added, and when Raphael threw them a glance, they, too, were looking up at the sky. “But not quite what I had expected.”
They were offering an opening for him to counter, to play. Raphael swallowed the response that would have come naturally and straightened up. “Before I return this to you,” he said, pulling the delicate gold chain out of his breast pocket, “I have a question for you. No,” he met their eyes, curious still, if confused, “a demand.”
He gave them a chance to speak up, but they only nodded for him to continue. “Your name. What name do you go by?”
Understanding came immediately, he could tell by the disappointment in their features. They did not respond. This was no demand they could fulfil, and Raphael was very much aware. Nameless could not claim names for themselves.
Still, he let the silence stretch on, trying to calm himself. He had expected mockery but the silence that met him instead did little to soothe the humiliating sting.
“Did you really think I would not find out?” he finally said, and there was no reason to keep the venom out of his voice anymore.
They crossed their arms in front of their chest with a sigh. “It took you a while, did it not?”
He frowned, trying to quell his flaring anger at the insult. How dare they keep this calm? Did they not fear their master’s displeasure at their failure? Not that Mephistopheles would ever be satisfied with them. Much as Nameless could not lie about their names, the duke was impossible to satisfy.
“He will not give you what you want,” he spat, wishing to hurt or at least anger. It had been a very long time since his father had contrived something like this, and Raphael had hoped he had made clear that this would not work on him. He wasn’t this easy to trick, to distract. And now he sent his own pet? The most obvious, blatant candidate for a spy? At least the other times it had been loyal nobles with a sudden keen interest in Raphael, but this…this felt like a slap in the face. He was livid.
“Nobody else can,” they said, voice flat. Raphael pondered for a moment if the tone would change if he’d push them off the balcony.
“And he won’t .” His knuckles were white when he wrapped his fingers around the reiling again, looking ahead instead of at Haarlep’s annoyingly composed expression. How he would love to ruin them. Had his father not broken his toys before? It’d be sweet revenge. “I have lived here all my life,” he exhaled, trying to keep his voice even, cold, “You are not the first to come with such naive hopes. None left free.”
“You lie.” Was that finally a hint of emotion in their voice?
Raphael glared at them from the corner of his eye, “Takes one to know one, hm?”
They frowned, evidently annoyed. “I did not lie to you.”
“No, of course not.” He grit his teeth, realised he was crushing the golden chain beneath his fingers on the reiling and pulled away, threw it at their feet. He met their eyes, a little wide in surprise, his own as icy as his tone, “You can tell your master that he’d be wise to use you better.”
Raphael did not give opportunity for a response, turning on his heel and walking back down the hallway he had come. He did not look back, and even if there had been any calling he would not have heard it over his own seething thoughts. His feet would have carried him directly to his father’s rooms had he not long had to learn that no matter his outrage, Mephistopheles would not change his ways. He went to his own rooms, done with the festivities for the night.
*
Haarlep watched Raphael storm off, dumbfounded. This was not the first time their elusive game had been taken poorly, though it had been a while. The higher circles Haarlep had inhabited for so long were usually too certain of their own station to take much offence from this little game. Usually it was those in-between that did not enjoy being played, much less by someone beneath their own shaky rank. So far below, in fact, that they could scarcely be called a someone , but were always someone's.
They had not expected Raphael to react so strongly. Despite his perpetual frown starting to leave its marks, he was far from humourless, and they had heard enough chatter in agreement of that assessment to know it was not their misjudgement. He seemed more certain of his own station than everybody else at court, and from what they had heard, was known to speak to everyone, named or not, with the same vague sense of superiority.
Besides, his reaction seemed a little off from the usual anyway. It had cut him much deeper than the superfluous insult to his pride it should have been, that much had been evident in the fury in his eyes, his acid words.
The lashing out had been uncalled for, and they dared not put too much thought into what he had said. He was lying. It was clear that he had wanted to hurt them back. He had just spit words.
After their initial shock at his outbreak subsided, they bent to pick up the little chain and began walking back, still trying to figure out what the true offence had been, and deliberately not dwelling on how certain Raphael had sounded when stating that Mephistopheles would not give them what they wanted.
They frowned. Maybe that had been what got him so worked up. If there was one thing everybody at court agreed on, it was that the bastard's relationship to his father was less than favourable. The outburst still seemed a little strange to them. It wasn’t like Raphael didn’t know that this was their only chance at freedom.
The chattering from the party was already getting audible again by the time their confusion had settled enough to remember Raphael’s parting words. They had been so focused on trying to ignore what he had said before, the odd choice of phrase hadn't struck them then. Use them better? Did he think Mephistopheles had sent them to him? To spy?
They stopped, considered. Was there anything worth spying for? They had heard rumours about Raphael’s presence at court being a precaution, a way to keep him watched. Apparently there had been incidents in the past to warrant such care, though they had not heard anything specific.
How much truth there was to the whisperings they could not guess, but they knew for a fact that Mephistopheles had not even mentioned his son, much less sent them to shadow him. Raphael was certainly full of himself enough to believe it, and he hadn’t even given them the opportunity to try and convince him otherwise. They weren’t sure it would have worked. He seemed stubborn.
They shook their head and picked up their pace again. There was little point of dwelling on it now. It would probably take some time for Raphael to calm down enough to let them get a word in. If he would calm down at all. The idea that he might not saddened them a little. He had been fun to play with so far.
Pushing the thought away, they rejoined the party quietly, as if they had never left. Like the golden chain wrapped around their finger had been there all along.
Chapter Text
Mephistopheles was a strange master, even by their standards. And they would say that they had, if not seen it all, at least come quite close to getting a taste of most. From the strict, often cruel masters of their youth that'd put them to work when their hands still bled from the day before, to those blissfully neglectful ones that let them be after their tasks were done, the possessive ones later, when they had found much more pleasant work to do and had started to dream of independence. There had been one in those early days of their efforts to rise they had severely misjudged who had ended up jealously cruel, and they had struggled for years to find someone willing to pay enough to get them out. It was always a gamble to gauge a person by how they acted at social gatherings, and they had been new then to trying to have some influence in who acquired them. It had been a mess.
Ever since bridging the gap into higher society, their masters had been mostly of the eccentric but indulgent type. The kind that'd have occasional errands and tasks, but otherwise was happy to enjoy their companionship when wanted and otherwise leave them to roam freely. Lythil had been the one who had allowed them the most freedom for sure, but overall they had been lucky enough to live in comfort for a long time by now.
They wondered how long it had been since one of those Nameless born outside court came to stand before the duke. They wondered if they, too, had found the arrangement an odd one. No concrete orders had been given so far, but neither was their presence requested otherwise as they would have expected. Nothing had been said about what exactly they would have to do to prove themself — nor how long they would have to serve him to get what they wanted — but it had been made clear that obedience would be rewarded.
So far, there had been little to obey. They were to make themself known at court without revealing who they were. There was no need to keep it a secret necessarily — and of course, Lady Lythil at the very least knew, and the fact that she had replaced them was difficult to miss — but neither were they to mention it if it could be avoided.
Easy. They were, after all, not a complete stranger at least to the outer circles of court, and had lived among lesser nobility and those scrambling to rise to it for long enough to need little adaptation to fit right in with the crowds here. In their opinion, they had succeeded in all they had been told to do.
Yet, their orders had not been changed, nothing had been added. Every time they were summoned, they walked down the seemingly endless hallway to the high, dark doors to Mephistopheles’ rooms with their nerves on edge, unsure what was expected of their report and so desperately wanting to do it right. They had come so far already. They had to succeed.
They were always made to wait at the door, and it only fed their anxiety, made them too aware of how little they had to say. Their instructions just seemed too vague, they were unsure what they were meant to look out for. But they had to do it right, had to please.
After a torturous time waiting, they were admitted by one of the strange, empty-eyed servants who spoke little and whose few words spoken were always flat, expressionless. They had attempted to chat with them the first couple times, if only to take their mind off their nerves, but had quickly learned not to bother.
Mephistopheles awaited them right there, and the insult of never getting past the antechamber was not lost on them. He would usually be sitting at the table towards the far end of the room, flanked by two heavy bookshelves. More times than not, wine was being poured into his waiting glass when they stepped in, and they had to wait and keep quiet some more while Mephistopheles looked past the servant pouring and right at them. They lowered their eyes, and waited. Heard the quiet steps of the servant disappearing, and idly wondered if they had been wordlessly dismissed. They surely would not dare to leave without being instructed.
“Speak,” Mephistopheles would say at last, and the tone would have seemed dismissive were it not for that edge in his voice that made them straighten up, eyes still turned down, and consider their words carefully.
They'd sneak the occasional glance up at the duke as they recounted all they had seen and heard, but he just regarded them with those same cold, orange eyes, occasionally sipping his wine. It was impossible to tell whether the words pleased him, and they only grew more stressed by the minute trying to figure out if this was getting them any closer to freedom by the quick looks at Mephistopheles’ unmoving, neutral expression.
The silence that always filled the room after they fell quiet seemed too complete to hide their pounding heartbeat. It was at this point that they always wished a seat had been offered to them. Exhaustion and anxiety left their legs wobbly.
A small lifetime seemed to pass as they waited, trying to appear calm. They never dared to look up at this moment, but wondered often if Mephistopheles was enjoying letting them squirm. Why else would he wait so long just to dismiss them as coldly as he had welcomed them?
Because that was all he ever did. Very rarely, questions were asked, but in the same, disinterested inflection and betraying nothing of what exactly he was looking for in their reports. The inquiries seemed random, without betraying whether they were making up for a shortcoming in the report, or if something had seemed interesting enough to ask for more detail. Dismissal always followed swiftly, and they left the room frustrated and as nameless as before, without an idea of how much longer they would have to do this to change that.
So far, that was all there seemed to be to their new engagement. They should be thrilled about how much freedom there was to it, how little restrictions they had been given. They were to stay around court unless specifically sent elsewhere, but court was huge and they were far from having seen it all, especially now that there were no boundaries to their movement within. It was left mostly to them what events to attend, and there was no guidance for what they should do in-between, leaving them with what was factually free time, though they filled it often with more parties and get-togethers in the hopes of hearing something truly interesting. They never did.
No limitations had been set to the people they associated with, either. Even Lythil had, at least superficially, kept track of those who wished to amuse themselves with them and had stuck with the usual procedure. Her consent had to be obtained, and it was up to her to negotiate a price with the other.
Often, she had turned a blind eye when they had…forgotten to ask her permission first. They had been lucky with her, and they had known not to expect this much freedom with their new master. Their body would not be their own until they got their name.
Instead, they had been given near complete freedom in that regard, at least for now. The caveat of being forbidden to accept payment was a minor nuisance. It was dizzying still to be kept on this loose a leash. Would this be how it felt once they were free?
Well, the constant looming knowledge that they were far from it now, no matter how they felt, would hopefully be gone then. How much longer would they have to wait? The question was always at the tip of their tongue when they stood before Mephistopheles, but they never dared pose it.
*
Raphael stayed calm after his revelation. They had played these little mind games before, and it had not taken long for him to figure out that he had done nothing to rouse Mephistopheles’ suspicion. It was not the right time to do . Things were too calm at court, messages from the front steadily the same, no end in sight, but neither were there any significant differences between the warring sides.
No, everyone was a little too placid, too content here, so far from the spilled blood, to do much. This was the time to think, and listen, to make sure possible allies down the line thought of him favourably. To plant seeds — in carefully chosen words, in meaningful silence and lingering glances — for whenever the time to do would come again. It was tedious, sometimes, Raphael had to be so very subtle, so careful, and he often did not trust his opposite's intelligence enough to understand. He comforted himself in remembering that, should that be the case, he could do without their allyship.
He did love this phase. There was an art to it, to find just the right space in a conversation — often make it, unnoticed — to slip in a word, an idea — often just a change of tone — and watch the other's face puzzle over it, the eventual quiet understanding in their eyes. Latter would often not come within that same conversation, Raphael would be acting too obviously if that'd be the case, but it would come eventually — he'd see it in their expression when their eyes caught at a different social gathering a week later — and he savoured it.
Was that the reason for Mephistopheles’ move? Had Raphael been a little too subtle lately, too pliant? Enough to raise suspicion?
Or did his father know something he did not? Raphael’s tail twitched in irritation, teeth grinding together. It was likely. All information reaching court went straight to Mephistopheles first. So which one was it?
He glared up at the piercing eyes of the portrait over the fireplace as if answers could be found in them. Chewed his lip thoughtfully. His next move was the same no matter the answer, wasn't it? He had to find that precarious middle ground that'd get him ignored by Mephistopheles, not too pliant, not too suspicious. If some kind of change was coming, he needed to be the duke's least concern. Raphael set down his glass and moved out of the room, brow still furrowed in consideration. He needed to clear his head.
Over the years Raphael had found that the best way to streamline his erratic thoughts was fighting practice. He did not enjoy it, but something about how it forced all thought from his mind as he had to focus on moving his body always helped with approaching whatever problem was at hand more calmly afterwards, kept him from acting too rashly.
Besides, it was about time he returned for it anyway. Raphael made sure to not get out of practice. He was certain that Mephistopheles’ threat spoken all that time ago had rung true, and should it ever come to Raphael being sent away to the front as then suggested, he refused to give him the satisfaction of dying there.
The resident swordmaster had been old when they had taught Raphael to hold his first sword as a child, and was past ancient now. Still, Baelun knew how to keep Raphael on his toes. They had been missing an eye and a couple of fingers on what Raphael believed to be their dominant hand — he could not be sure, Baelun had seemingly not been the talkative type even when they had still possessed a tongue — when they had met, and had never failed to work around any weaknesses Raphael tried finding in those shortcomings, or in any others. They adapted to his new strategies and movements with frustrating speed, and left next to no room for him to ponder what else he could try to land a blow.
If age had slowed them down in any way, they had found ways around it Raphael had not yet cracked, and it did not take long until he broke a sweat trying to at the very least keep things even. Raphael had always dreaded the day these sessions might grow boring as opponents got too used to the other, and had been relieved to find out that that moment had simply never come.
He liked the swordmaster’s calculating silence and keen eye, always forcing him to be so very aware of his stance, his expression, the hundred tiny ways his body might betray his next move without him even thinking of closing in. It felt good, invigorating even, to be this alert and know exactly where the feeling had to be directed towards to resolve the situation. The occasional training fights with others tended to get spoiled in this regard, distracting chatter and more play than fight often putting him in a foul mood even as he swung the sword. He much preferred this, even though he knew that should he ever actually need these skills, his enemy was unlikely to stay quiet and let him focus.
Not that Baelun did not know how to rile him up, to distract him. Especially when Raphael struggled to concentrate, like today, they missed no opportunity to let him know he was slacking. Words weren't needed for that, not when a raised brow at just the right time could sting worse than verbal berating, not when they were relentless in their attacks as he struggled to block out his distracting thoughts, not when the disapproving glares he got for being sloppy cut as effectively as any insult. Frustration, anger, humiliation all bubbled up in his stomach as he felt himself getting cornered, Baelun’s expression daring him to give up, to give in and surrender to his fretting and stop wasting their time.
It drove Raphael mad, and often it was him who’d snap and throw sharp words and insults at his ever-silent attacker as he regained his footing once his mind finally managed to focus on the task at hand and nothing else. It was both relief and triumph every time, and Raphael liked little more than trying to get them back for embarrassing him. Petty , Baelun’s eye seemed to say as it met his over their crossed blades. It didn’t matter. They indulged him as long as he proved a good sparring partner, and Raphael pushed them back with a grin, moving smoothly into his next attack.
Raphael left the training grounds feeling quite numb, conscious that by the time he reached his rooms, his body would most probably feel like one big sore. A glance out of one of the windows in the hallway told him that he had spent a considerable amount of time sparring. He wondered if dinner would already be set out for him. He was starving.
His mind felt pleasantly empty as he put one foot in front of the other, legs feeling heavier with each step. Exhaustion was making forming coherent thoughts difficult, even though he could feel the tension he had sought to shed return. The feeling never really left him for long, but he cherished the moments his mind was too tired to think much of its source.
The hallways of the main building were blissfully empty as he made his way back to his rooms. He was in no mood for company now, barely heard the far-away chatter and steps.
By the time he opened the door to his rooms, he was all but dragging his feet, his arms burning with exhaustion. The scent of food welcomed him at the entrance, and his stomach grumbled even as his sore muscles cried for a hot bath. These were the moments Raphael cursed himself for refusing to keep servants around at all times. They could not be trusted.
He walked to the dining table, put some of the food on a tray and grabbed the opened bottle of wine before moving towards the door to the bath. The sweet-scented steam that met him behind the door immediately made some of the tension bleed out of his shoulders with a deep, satisfied exhale. The bath was his favourite room by far, most of the room taken up by the pool steadily filled with the same hot spring water as the public baths, but scented to his liking, and his . Raphael had insisted on it. He liked the public baths well enough, tongues often loosening in the heat and relaxation, but more often than not he wanted — needed — to be alone to truly relax.
Raphael set the tray down, and finally rid himself of his sweat-drenched clothes before stepping into the hot water. He all but melted into it, tight muscles relaxing in the soothing warmth. He closed his eyes with a quiet hum, letting the gentle song of the bubbling water calm him. He was tired, and all too tempted to sleep, but his growling stomach made him sit up again, and pour himself some wine.
Slowly, Raphael reviewed his thoughts from earlier in the day as he started picking at his dinner. His mind was a little too tired to get carried away with questions and possibilities, but not so exhausted as to make thinking a chore. It all seemed rather clear now, or as clear as anything related to Mephistopheles ever did get. Raphael still thought that the most likely explanations for the duke’s move were either that something in Raphael’s behaviour — be it him doing something suspicious, though he would not know what, or possibly having been a little too quiet and regular as of late — had alerted his father, or that the duke had acted on information still unknown to the public.
As to what was to be done about this, Raphael did not know. If the reason was the first suggestion, it would probably not be too difficult to adjust his routine to something that’d calm Mephistopheles’ nerves and would hopefully make Raphael fall back into a background concern, one barely worth attention. He would probably have to be careful to not overdo either extreme to achieve the results he wanted, but he was confident he could do it. He was well-practised in this sort of game by now.
The bigger concern was what he ought to do if Mephistopheles’ attention was a sign of change to come. Raphael turned to look out the tinted windows as he licked some sauce off his fingers. He had not wanted them tinted, and had made his displeasure at it more than clear when he had seen, but he had gotten used to them over the years. The dimmed natural light falling into the room did add a pleasant ambience, especially in combination with the candles he kept burning around the pool. Still, he rather wished for a clear view of the sky in moments like this. It always helped him think.
He turned back around and pushed the food he had finished aside and sank deeper into the water with a sigh. Something in his back popped with the movement.
So what could he do? Raphael itched to alert his own informants to possible news that have but reached the duke himself. It would be risky. He still refused to fully trust them. People were too easily bought and threatened, seduced. There were too many ways to get them to talk, to change their loyalties. Not for the first time in his life, Raphael envied Mephistopheles for his vacant-eyed personal servants that knew no other loyalty than the one to their master, and were completely unmoved by any attempt to change that. He had tried once or twice to find out what his father did to them to break them so thoroughly, but to no avail.
He had only found out that they were Nameless. Raphael wondered still if Mephistopheles did something to their real names to make them like this. Could he? The powers of Raphael’s own bloodline were still frustratingly unclear, his own magic surely there, vaguely felt. But he could do nothing with it without the crown, as far as he knew.
He shook his head, looked up at the high ceiling. There was no point wasting time on things he could not have. If using his own very much influenceable informants seemed too big a risk, he'd need to try and listen for information himself. If any rumours spread, they were likely to be distractions from Mephistopheles himself. But some truth could be gleaned from them if tried, and Raphael could try and listen around the outer court circles too, where information from outside reached faster.
If his father knew something, then the best chance at figuring out what it was would be to watch his shadow. The idea displeased Raphael. He had not recovered from the insult, and had little desire to see his father’s pet again. But if he wanted to know, they'd be his best bet. He knew Mephistopheles kept a tight web of spies at court, but he had never managed to identify any with certainty. Oh, he had his suspicions, but acting on those could waste precious time, especially when he knew the identity of one clearly.
He ran a hand through steam-damp hair and tried not to think of longer, more slender fingers doing the same. He had seen them a couple times since that night, and done his best to stay out of their way. Not an easy task, as they tended to be just about everywhere as the night progressed, chatting and laughing with seemingly everyone present. He'd have to pay closer attention to find out if this assessment was true from now on, if they did not seem to favour somebody, some topic.
Raphael reached for the soap, briefly submerged himself in hot water. The steam-filled air was nearly cool against his face when he sat up again. Exhaustion had truly settled in, and he knew there would be no more planning tonight. He just wished to rest.
He washed his hair and rinsed it, and found himself too tired to keep his thoughts from wandering freely. Vague questions, yes, but also yellow eyes and hair silkier than his own running between his fingers, brushing against his skin. A shudder went through him at the memory, and Raphael closed his eyes with a sigh and sunk deeper into his bath.
Chapter Text
They grew restless in those hours of free time left to them. At first, they had tried to fill them with more social gatherings, more chatter and gossip and laughs in the hopes of gaining freedom faster, but their master never showed himself impressed with their attempts, and it was draining to keep it up. As much as they had always enjoyed being among people, they did relish some time alone to recharge at some point. And since depriving themself of that wasn’t getting them anywhere, they stopped cramming their schedule every day.
But the hours often felt long, some part of them unable to shake the feeling that there was a way to impress Mephistopheles enough to name them. If such a way existed, they were certain that it was not what they had been doing, so they forced themself not to start again.
Which left them restless. Their mind went to Raphael once or twice, the temptation to try and go back to indulge that particularly delightful pastime a strong one. What a shame that he had evidently not recovered from his false discovery. The glowering looks he gave them every time their eyes met at a party or a dinner, how he avoided spending more time than necessary with a group they were entertaining, made that quite clear.
No, that option to pass their free time would have to be forgotten. For now, at least. They would not put it off their mind for good. Raphael had been very fun, even just in the brief time they had spent with him.
Besides, there was always something else in those blazing eyes when they caught his gaze. And their eyes met often enough to be sure of it.
By the time they finally decided that they would dedicate some of those free hours to their new home, they were unsure if they were trying to distract from Mephistopheles’ frustratingly non-existent reaction to all they brought before him, or if they wished to take their mind off his perpetually malcontented son who had scowled at them so openly at the party two days ago when they had started to accompany the lady on the piano with their flute. Raphael seemed to sometimes simply forget he was — presumably — trying to be subtle, and the fact that his brows had very nearly met with how intensely he had furrowed them then had nearly made them laugh.
Their rooms. They did not mind the lighter colour palette, the blues and lilacs occasionally contrasted with deeper indigoes and violets added some depth while keeping the more open, airy feel of the apartment. It was a far cry from the heavy, dark furnishing and draperies they had seen around court, and it made them wonder if the rooms had just gone unused so long that the decor had been in fashion then, or if this was a glimpse at the previous owner’s taste.
Inquiries as to the previous resident had yielded nothing. This wing had been little used for, it seemed, a very long time, and few remembered the times it had been well-frequented clearly. Not that it mattered much. They had just been curious.
For the time being, the only thing that truly bothered them in the rooms they could call their own were the walls. They could not remember the last time they had lived somewhere with plain, empty walls. Aristocracy, no matter how low in birth, had been very fond of detailed wallpaper for as long as they had lived among them, and even with their walls themselves clothed in artistic patterns and beautiful colours, most loved the addition of carved trim and framed portraits and other pieces of art.
The off-white bare walls that met them every time they closed the door to their rooms were a far cry from that. No amount of pretty, half-sheer draperies and wall hangings could truly distract from it, and while they had assumed they’d eventually get used to it, it had only become a more apparent glaring emptiness as they had started to spend more time in here. They had unpacked fully by now, and overall they thought everything looked quite homely, but a glance at the wall reminded them so starkly of how this was just a bigger cage than before. And a less literally gilded one than its predecessors.
They might as well change that. It did not seem like they would be leaving soon.
In the past, they had had little say in their home’s decor, as they had always lived with their masters, usually within their own houses or rooms, furnished and decorated by them. Sure, most had given them otherwise free reign over their own corner, but aside from the occasional painting put up, they had never been able to do much to the walls.
It turned out to be a difficult endeavour, though a rewarding one. Not much time was necessary to figure out who at court they could talk to about their desire to cover their naked walls, and even if their master did not care, they were proud at how eager their new acquaintances were to help them when they mentioned it. It bode well for future confidence that would hopefully yield something that’d get Mephistopheles’ attention.
They brushed the thought aside as they were shown a seemingly endless collection of wallpaper samples. None of them were quite what they had in mind. What they wanted was something more warm to offset the cool blues and purples, something that would tie in, too, with the reddish wood of the furniture. Most of what they were being shown felt too saturated, too dark for that purpose, and the patterns, too, were not to their taste. The seamstress they saw more frequently than was good for their purse knew by now that those severe, geometric patterns so sought after lately did little for them, and knew, too, to show them only those fabrics printed and embroidered in more irregular shapes, more twisting naturalism than rows of bold diamonds. Their preferences were not known by the gentleman talking them patiently through what they were looking at, and their gentle coaxing got them mostly confused pauses and more of the same. Nonetheless, they quitted him with a thank you and a smile, determined to be remembered positively here, too, and promising to return once they had made a decision.
They let a week pass as they pondered their options, laughed and drank and chatted and stood very tensely once again under Mephistopheles’ indifferent gaze. It was strange how much his eyes looked like Raphael’s in shape and colour, and yet had none of their intrigue, were too hard, too cold. Raphael eluded them that week, but they heard excited chatter about how very charming he had been at some event they had not attended.
In the end, they decided to go for something more subtle for the walls and keep two bare to work on them with their paints. If none of the artsy wallpaper was truly to their liking, they'd have to take matters into their own hands. The idea of a canvas that big made their fingertips tingle with excitement.
Their request was met with some bemusement as they went to make it, but they smiled sweetly and repeated back his own words from last time about the appeal of the pattern they had chosen — barely there golden ovals — so no further questions were asked as, the charmed gentleman only expressing his enthusiasm to work with them.
And so, bit by bit, their empty walls got covered until only the two they would fill themself were left. They did not hurry, knowing that with canvases of that size, they'd need a good while anyway. Besides, as much as they itched to plunge into this project, they also did not want to spend all their free time on it. They did not want people to think them a recluse outside of social events, and neither did they think they wanted to spend every empty hour they had by themself.
So they went out of their way to call on some of those nobles that had taken a liking to them, spending afternoons in more intimate circles with looser tongues. It was getting more difficult to dodge the name question in these, and they were sure some were having suspicions. It didn't worry them too much. They wouldn't be the only one lacking a name mingling freely at court. They just had to be careful not to get anyone curious enough to ask about their master’s identity.
“What was your name again?” was a common question in these small circles, and half the times they easily made it fizzle out in animated conversation without ever answering it, but often chatter would die down and curious eyes would turn to them. Life would be so much easier could they simply take a fake name like all those born knowing their real ones. Instead, their tongue refused to move when they tried.
Even after so much time they sometimes couldn't help trying.
Since giving a name was impossible, they had to improvise instead. A surprised look — a pleased grin, maybe, or a flustered smile, depending on the speaker, and then, “Bold to flirt so openly with me in company.”
They'd adapt their tone depending on their opposite, trying to make their eyes widen, their gaze lower with a surprised chuckle. Others would laugh, too and the question would be forgotten in teasing and awkward coughing. They sometimes wondered if some had imagined a name for them by now. They never found out. It would have been so terribly convenient if they'd give them one they could use whenever they were in their company. Raphael had been so easy in that sense, but they never got one of the other nobles to follow through with the flirtation.
Calling on Lythil was less nerve-wracking in that regard, and they did so frequently when hours of painting left them in no mood to keep alert as they pretended to relax with others. She was easy, unchanging, and with it, comfortable the way few people and places at court felt.
Often they'd come to her early, fingertips stained in warm oranges and yellows, deep greens, and they’d sit with her in her windowseat until one of them had to leave for some engagement or another. They'd exchange gossip. Many of the set events they were to attend were among the higher, most influential circles while she still spent most of her social time among the minor nobles with strong ties to the outside. While there was a fair amount of overlap in topics, the specific shades things were talked about and approached often differed.
They were finally introduced to her new pet, too, now wearing his own face, or at the very least no longer wearing theirs, which was a relief. He was pleasant in a way they had learned all those Nameless born and raised at court were. It was nearly a little unsettling, though at least he seemed not quite as placid as most. It was strange and amusing to see him at her side, doing all the little things they had been doing not so long ago — waiting on her so she wanted for nothing, making sure that if she did, the servants knew to fix that. Sitting with her legs in his lap and traced them idly as he listened to her talk, waiting patiently for when his input was expected. Just as she liked.
“How is your project coming along?” Lythil asked one morning after they had all fallen into a brief, blissful silence trying the newest pastries she had ordered. She had recently acquainted herself with the resident pastry chef and was clearly reaping the benefit of whatever favour she had done for her.
They hummed, licking the remaining powdered sugar off their fingertips. “Good. I cannot reach the empty bedroom wall standing anymore. The drawing room is also coming along nicely, though I have not been working on it as much lately.”
He gave them a curious look, but they let Lythil explain, knowing she loved doing so, “Our friend here was not entirely satisfied with their new lodgings, nor too happy with the selection of wallpaper available, so they took it upon themself to paint on some of the walls.” She threw them a grin. “I assume doing all seemed a bit excessive.”
They chuckled and she winked, but he looked genuinely interested as he looked at them. “Oh? What are you painting, if I may ask?” He smiled that quiet, sweet smile they had seen on so many of the court’s Nameless’ faces.
Before they could respond, Lythil spoke, “You should go look at it someday.”
She said it with the certainty and authority of one who had had full control over their life for a long time until recently, and while her new pet looked a bit confused, they could not help but laugh. Lythil seemed to realise what she had done, but they waved away her sheepish glance, laughter calming down. He still watched his master, slightly baffled, one of the pale blond curls loosely falling into their forehead nearly poking their left eye. They pondered him until bright blue eyes met theirs, a thin brow raising just so as confusion turned to curiosity.
They grinned, did not break eye contact as they spoke, “If you can spare him for half an hour someday, I'll gladly show him.”
“I'm sure that will be doable,” she said in her vague, distracted way that showed she was barely listening anymore. They both turned to her, sure she'd begin a new topic soon.
*
Raphael was having fun. Maybe he had grown a little too picky about what social events he considered worthy of his time. After all, even the dinners and balls of high aristocracy were, strictly seen, below him. Sure, those in attendance were closer in station to him, held themselves as if they were equals to him, but no amount of title could bridge that last gap to truly bring them to his eye level. No, that one was internal, an innate sense of otherness — of superiority — he felt acutely aware of after a night of talking and engaging with supposed equals.
So what had kept him from those smaller gatherings of lower nobility? If anything, there was a particular pleasure to be had in watching those new to court struggle to settle on what they thought appropriate conduct with him. Too many contradicting rumours about his standing at court always seemed to make for rather unnerved new nobles whenever he introduced himself. He could not deny the joy at watching them squirm through polite conversation.
He did not show this particular amusement, of course, taking pains to be pleasant and courteous without being boring as he knew full well that allies could and should be found amongst all groups residing at court. It was nearly easy with these people who seemed more than happy to let him take the lead in conversation, and were so easily charmed by things that had little effect with those more used to the higher nobility’s conduct.
As pleased as Raphael was with his outings, the lack of useful information he was gathering from them — no matter if it were the smaller gatherings of lower nobility or his usual — was frustrating. His own spies had had nothing to report lately, either, which only made him more certain that there must be something. But no matter who he talked to, no matter what quiet conversation he eavesdropped on, he heard nothing of interest, nothing that even began to sound suspicious.
Even listening to Mephistopheles’ pet was yielding nothing but mild irritation at how well they wielded that smooth tongue of theirs. Raphael was very careful in how to approach them in specific, well-aware that they were observant and had not missed how he had been avoiding them. If he’d suddenly search out their vague company at parties, it’d undoubtedly seem highly suspicious.
Instead, Raphael acted like he was done expending extra energy to avoid having to listen to them. He spared them little attention, kept his answers when he couldn't avoid giving one short and polite.
If anything it seemed to make them only more likely to press and prod at him. Carefully worded sharp-edged comments addressed directly at him, a repeated attempt to get him in specific to take over the conversation by insisting he respond to a specific question more thoroughly. There was always that glint of a challenge in their eye, the expectant grin on their lips. Raphael slipped once or twice from staying cold in his irritation, but even then he quickly caught himself again.
It only made them bolder. He found himself at one of those small-scale parties Raphael still found little joy in, especially since sooner or later somebody always seemed to start abusing some instrument or another. His displeasure about it was clear on his face as the time came for it and the casual chatter grew more quiet, as if to show respect to the horrendous playing of the poor piano. He was considering if it was worth it to suffer through yet another terrible spontaneous concert or if he could quietly retire early. At the very least he needed something stronger than the watery wine they were giving out.
Their eyes met as he was looking around for where to get something better to drink, and Raphael saw the mischief in their face and knew he would not get far. He watched as they bent to the piano player they were standing next to, mumbled something into his ear. He stopped playing, gave them a smile before looking up and right at Raphael.
The smile turned a little uncertain, and it was them who spoke for him, meeting Raphael’s eyes again, “You look at the instrument with such yearning, my lord,” the title always irritated Raphael, though it was as much as his father allowed and therefore the correct address for him. They, however, said it with such mocking he struggled to keep said irritation off his features. “Won’t you play a little bit for us?”
Raphael smiled pleasantly, enjoying the multiple pairs of eyes that had turned to him. He rarely put himself into the centre of attention like this anymore, keeping to less conspicuous places where he could spin his threads more easily. But that did not mean he did not love the attention, no matter how often it had gotten him into trouble.
With a grin, he put the glass he was holding down on a tray of a passing servant, saying, “Gladly.”
Both the previous player and his father’s pet stepped back as he walked around to take the seat in front of the piano. He considered, but did not take long before beginning to play. It was rare to have the opportunity to show off his skill, and it would be stupid not to take it.
Chatting died down as he played, and Raphael thoroughly enjoyed having his audience’s undivided, wordless attention. Someday, he would have this without having to give a concert for it. No, all he’d need would be Mephistopheles’ crown on his head. His crown.
He did not drag it out, knowing that in such a casual context, he would not have rapt attention for very long. People had gathered here to chat and drink tonight, the music would eventually fall into the background again. So he played for a little longer, content as he often was when letting fingers fly over the keys, until the piece was over.
He stopped, and rose, bowing with some flourish to the pleased applause. Raphael did not get particularly far from the instrument itself before being approached with praise and compliments, and swept into a rather pleasant conversation on music. When he caught their eye across the room again, they gave him an appreciative grin and a wink.
Notes:
i completely forgot how much plot i actually wrote into this...the hubris....
Chapter Text
Raphael had agreed to the visit at the last party, but he had quickly realised that aside from music, his host knew little of anything, and spoke with baseless confidence on every topic at hand.
He wanted to leave. He could not, had barely been here half an hour. It would not be polite, not after such an enjoyable evening the other night.
At least the air was pleasant, the sofas on the balcony comfortable, the wine acceptable. Raphael had given up finding anything to talk about that would not end in a headache for him, so he had stopped listening and only nodded and made polite noises at the right intervals.
Twice already he had tried to bring the conversation back to the only thing his opposite knew to speak of, but twice the conversation had fizzled out to be replaced by some other topic, no matter his efforts. This was dreadful. He wondered how acceptable it might be for him to simply walk back inside and play the frankly beautiful piano in the parlour to drown its owner out.
Maybe he would have tried had he not been quite so watched. The monologuing gentleman, Raphael was pretty sure, had probably forgotten his presence altogether by now, but his quiet shadow sitting beside him had not yet turned her curious eyes from him.
She had been there at the party, too, quietly tagging along, and it had only occurred to Raphael today that she was his Nameless. It did not matter how commonly they were kept, the idea of having somebody else in your space all the time was so unappealing Raphael often did not consider that many a noble brought their pets with them to the dances and parties. He guessed it made sense. Most were kept for company, after all, and that is what one wanted in such places, no?
He had never seen the appeal. Oh, many had tried to convince him — both Nameless who thought he'd make a good master to them and acquaintances confident that nothing would relax him quite like having a person around all the time — but to no avail. What use would a pet like this be to him? Outside of social events, he craved peace and quiet, not more company.
He kept no servants for he did not trust them, and it would be the same with a Nameless. They'd hear and see everything, and while being a bit of an obvious option for a spy, Raphael was well-aware that they were still popular choices for it. Once you had one they were always there. You could not act as you wished in your own home for fear they might see it fit to report it to somebody.
He knew not everybody kept their pets in their own home. His father never did, not before their eyes became vacant at least, and even after Raphael was uncertain, knew only that those seemingly left with no will of their own were the only ones allowed to wait on him. They made poorer spies still with their empty expressions and flat voices, but Raphael knew their ears were still well-used for the purpose. Sometimes spying was less about fitting in seamlessly enough to get people to confide in you and more about having so little of your own presence left you went unnoticed even in earshot of most private exchanges.
Raphael had wondered if his father’s newest pet would face this fate for failing their mission in regards to him. His father had not kept the crown on his brow for this long because he was merciful. Mephistopheles did not allow mishaps, and had never been one to let even the smallest one go unpunished.
So seeing them seemingly unchanged was a surprise. And Raphael had seen them enough lately to be certain they weren't simply exceptional at hiding whatever punishment had been inflicted upon them. They were fine. It puzzled him.
Had they been telling the truth about not being sent to spy? Or was he supposed to think so and let his guard down for another attempt? It seemed very unlike Mephistopheles to give second chances. And yet they still teased him relentlessly, as if he'd forget who sent them. Raphael fought to hold his tongue not to retort in kind.
He missed it.
In an attempt to stop himself from pondering the sentiment even further — and to remember how sometimes he heard none of their well-delivered insults for how much he watched their mouth move — he realised it was quiet. The smile on his opposite's lips was good-humoured enough for him to be sure the monologue could not have ended too long ago, so Raphael returned the smile and finished the wine in his glass before setting it down.
Neither him nor his pet were regarding him with much expectation, so he dared to assume the conversation had simply died down and not that he had missed his cue for a response. “How about we play a little tune?” He suggested, wishing to save himself the agony of sitting through more talk. With a look at the Nameless, he asked, “Do you sing?”
Most of the Nameless kept at court did, or played some instrument, or knew some other skill to entertain. Some nobles liked to boast with their pets talents like they were their own. Raphael guessed they sort of were, since they owned them.
She nodded carefully, eyes for the first time leaving Raphael’s face for her master’s, questioning. He petted her hair and smiled. “Her voice is lovely, and your skill worthy to accompany it.”
They both rose, so Raphael followed suit and waited for the master of the house to walk back inside before going himself. To Raphael’s relief, he made a beeline for the piano and only motioned for Raphael to sit once he caught up.
*
They startled at the knock at their door at first. So far, they had politely declined every insistent noble who had expressed wishes to return their visits. They weren't entirely sure why. Maybe it was the thrill of being able to do so, of having a say on who entered the space designated their own for the first time in their long life.
Maybe it was because so far none had amused them quite as much as Raphael did. They had seen him around so much lately, amongst people evidently anxious about his standing at court as well as the usual parties they'd expect him to be at. Nothing about his countenance had changed towards them, though, his face ever-sour the moment he glanced at them.
Still, some part of them wondered if the knocking could be him. They were not blind to the desire in his eyes.
They pondered a long while whether to ignore the knocking anyway, but eventually their curiosity won over, and they opened the door. Blue eyes and a placid smile met them, and the brief moment of disappointment at it quickly turned to intrigue.
“Good evening,” they greeted.
“Good evening, my lord.” People who assumed themselves below them in rank kept calling them that. It was rather amusing. “My lady recently repeated that I should come and see how your walls are coming along.”
Not unrealistic, Lythil's memory could be rather sporadic. Still, they wondered if he was lying as they waved him through the door. They had found a lot of the faces of the Nameless at court quite impossible to read.
Lie or not, he showed great interest in what they had managed on the drawing room wall the moment he saw it. He expressed genuine surprise at their choice of motive and seemingly chaotic layout of it, kept trying to make out regular patterns where there were none. It got less and less likely that he had come under pretence as he asked them for their inspiration, why they had opted for unconventional colours for some of the leaves and vines, how they had learned to paint like this. There was something like animation in his voice as he spoke, and they were unsurprised when their question of whether he painted was answered with a nod.
“Nothing quite like this, of course…” he traced one of the thorny red vines coming from the fireplace. “Mostly portraiture.”
They hummed. “I think the last portrait I painted is the one in m…your lady's parlour.”
“Oh, that was you?” He turned to them with surprise. “The lighting is superb.”
They smiled. “Thank you. I used to do them often.”
He nodded, once again turned to the wall. “This is nice, too.”
A shrug from them. “It's something different. I got a bit…bored, I guess, with portraits. Though I'd like to go back.” Having somebody sit for them for so long would be a problem now, though, that they'd have to try and keep their exact identity secret. They had always been good at entertaining their models, but they had never had to pretend to be more than they were. Someone else's nameless pet. “Do you want to see the other wall? I'm getting close to the ceiling there.”
He held their gaze a moment before nodding, and following them to the bedroom. They took some pride in watching his steps slow, then stop as he looked up to take in their work. The concept was the same as in the other room, but they had stuck to richer, darker colours here, enjoying the higher contrast between the deep, sensual reds and purples and the light blues of the curtains and wall hangings. They found approval on his face, and more praise spilled from his lips as he approached the wall space not covered by the bed to take a closer look.
His lavender skin looked striking against the dark sheets when they pressed him into bed and kissed him. It had taken little coaxing, but they were beyond thinking of that. Free as they were for now to do as they pleased in this regard, the high of doing so was much the same as it used to be before.
The scent of his skin was nearly biting, too sweet, too close to rot. Lythil was probably using him to try her new creations as she had with them. They had to grin, but his hands made them gasp, and the thought was forgotten in the hot body pressing into them and the dulcet sounds of his gasps and whines.
It was the light falling through the windows that woke them. Unfortunately, the curtains that had come with the room were as sheer as the decorative hangings on the walls, and they had not yet gotten around to find something more useful to block out the sun. It had forced a habit of rising early onto them that had previously been unknown, at least not since their days of hard manual labour.
They knew the bed was empty even before their eyes fully opened. What a strange feeling. Up until now, they had always been on the leaving side of the equation, the beds they’d wake up in never theirs. With a sigh, they stretched out now, blinking up at the mostly painted wall behind their head with a smile. Oh, they could get used to this.
Not much time passed before they rose, their lingering inevitably ended by restlessness, and an eagerness to end what they had started. Lythil would probably be awake by now, she had always had the bad habit of rising before her servants, and thereby forcing one or two up before their hours, too. But one or two were easy to dismiss while they went to pay their due.
What a silly thought. How many times had they gone behind Lythil's back when still in her service? She had never made them pay despite often knowing. They assumed she would not insist now, either.
But they wanted to. Being left to their own devices by their master, it was up to them to do it. To do as those privileged with names did.
The thought made them giddy, and they tried to get the wide grin that met them in the mirror as they braided their hair off their face. People who were used to making their own decisions and facing their consequences did not walk around with a ridiculous grin like that. They might as well practise for when they'd finally count themself among them.
When they arrived at Lythil’s, they were admitted by a very tired-looking servant who still spoke in a hushed voice, even though it wasn't quite early enough anymore to warrant that.
Still, she was alone in the room, curled up on the sofa in front of the hearth in but her dressing gown, indulging in the contents of the breakfast tray in front of her. She looked up at their steps and gave a smile, motioning for them to sit.
“Good morning,” she hummed as they took their seat across from her. She still looked disappointed briefly when they did it, clearly missing when their place had been beside her.
With a smile, they returned the greeting before reaching into their pocket and setting the soft purse of coin on the table between them. It did not take her long to understand, her short brows furrowing first as she watched it, then rising as her eyes met theirs. They were nearly the same shade of purple as her skin.
They were also as easy to read to them as they have always been, so when they widened briefly in realisation, they knew she understood. With a sigh, she took the purse, and they could not help but grin.
“I assume your prices are about the same.”
She shook her head. “You never change, do you?”
They laughed. “On the contrary. I do little else.” With a wink, they added, “I used to simply let you lose the money, remember?”
She only shook her head again, but did not manage to fight off the grin pulling at her lips completely. “You've developed some honesty in the brief time you left my services. Your new situation is doing you some good.”
She laughed at her own overly sarcastic tone, and they could but join. It wasn't even wrong, though it was less their current situation and more the promise of freedom that had brought them here.
Once the laughter had quieted, she regarded them curiously. “Does this mean I need to request an audience with the duke?” There was fear in her voice, though she covered it well. They shook their head, a reassuring smile on their lips.
“No, don't worry.”
“No?” She looked alarmed.
Again, they shook their head. “Not in my contract.” For now , they added, well aware of Mephistopheles reminding them that all terms and conditions were subject to change at his whim. All but the one about the final reward for their services, of course. It had been all they had cared about. They had signed worse contracts before.
She looked surprised, shocked even, and still a little unsure after. They bent over the table, put their fingers under her chin to steady her and pressed a kiss right below her eye. It seemed to snap her out of it, only confusion and maybe something like intrigue on her features when they sat back. They did not want her to ponder that intrigue too long.
“While we're on the topic, my lady,” they grinned, shook their head, “the perfume you put on him…”
She sighed, let herself fall back into the cushions at her back. “Too strong, I know. I hoped it'd fade into something more pleasant after a while.”
“Well, last night it was somewhere between overripe fruit and rot.”
“That bad, hm?” She brushed at a strand that had fallen into her face. It was still loose, dark curls spilling over her back. They wondered if they should remind her about getting dressed, but she was already getting up with other things in mind. “I'll show you what it was. Maybe you have an idea…”
She was already walking deeper into the apartment, paying no mind to whether they followed or not. With a sigh, they got to their feet and went after her.
“Are you teaching your new pet, too?” they asked as she led them into a room scented heavily with the dried herbs and flowers lying and hanging everywhere, powders and creams littering the tables and counters. Flasks and bowls and glasses occupied the spaces not occupied by anything else. It looked relatively tidy, for once.
“I don't think he cares much for scents,” she shrugged, sounding disinterested and a little distracted. “He listens with polite interest, and does as he is told but…” They watched her rummage through the clutter on the table in the corner before turning around with the vial she had wanted. “His passions probably lie elsewhere.”
“He says he paints,” they offered.
She held the vial up to the light falling through the window and squinted. “Is that so? He hasn't mentioned it.”
You haven’t asked , they thought, but bit the comment back and grinned. She was done with the conversation anyway, eager to speak about the transparent liquid in the vial. Her trade was about the only topic Lythil could stay on for a very long time, and they had learned much about scent marking in their time with her by listening and watching as she worked. For proper teaching she had little talent, but they had always been quick to pick up new skills, and what they had seen over the years was enough for them to be able to supply themself with their favourite scents.
Lythil herself had always had a preference for the sweet, but even for her tastes, the vial she held under their nose was disgusting. She talked through ingredients and changes to the recipe she had been thinking about, expressed distaste for the muskier notes that were currently selling the best and wondered loudly if she might use this unfortunate trend to trick noses into appreciating the sweetness she’d much rather work with.
It was a rather one-sided conversation, though they knew when to speak for their opinion to be heard, and were not shy to do so. She had always implored them to be honest, saying that they had a good nose for these things, and so this pattern was well-known and easily fallen back into, even with their positions towards each other changed.
A polite knock interrupted them and when they turned to the door Lythil's pet was standing there, dressed in a dark blue doublet and white leggings, hair freshly washed and combed.
“Will my lady not dress for the day?” He said with a smile to Lythil after greeting them with a polite nod.
“Oh,” she mumbled, looking down at herself. She looked up again to meet their eyes. “Don't leave. You two can breakfast together once I'm back, we haven't talked in a while.”
She left the room without waiting for a response and once again, they followed wordlessly, wondering if what she said was true. It had been a week or maybe two since they had last come to catch up with her, which was not much longer a time than usual. Maybe she had something particular in mind to tell them?
One way or another, they moved to the windowseat to wait. A yawn overcame them as they sat down. They really had to tackle the curtain situation in their room soon.
Breakfast arrived before their host reemerged, but they waited with it untouched until two pairs of steps finally approached. The two took their usual places across from them, and conversation flowed as easily as ever. Lythil could not resist eating the occasional bite from their breakfast, too, and her pet was mostly quiet but content as he ate.
“You know the bastard?” Lythil said at one point, addressing them both.
“Not personally,” he responded, licking honey from his fingertips.
They did a much poorer job of seeming casual about such a random question, their hand with the cup pausing midway to their mouth. They forced themself to finish its journey and take a sip, setting the cup down again before saying, “I mostly know of him. Why?”
Lythil had not been at that first ball they had danced with him, and other than that there had been little public interaction between them. For now at least, they felt like keeping the acquaintanceship to themself, especially since they could not guess what she might say next.
She nodded absently, seemingly pondering her next words. “I don't know. I was a little surprised by him talking to me the other night.” She shrugged, frowned, “I mean, it was already strange to see him at the party itself, as those in attendance were nearly exclusively people new to court.”
“I think he is known to care little about such things,” her pet offered.
Lythil turned to look at him. “An egalitarian?”
They could not help but snort at the suggestion. Their acquaintanceship with Raphael might have been short, but they were confident that he looked at nobody as his equal. “Most certainly not.” Ignoring the raised brows the comment got them from both, they turned to Lythil with a conspiratory grin, “Well, what did he say to you?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary. I found him quite pleasant, despite what you tend to hear…” She sounded surprised. They had noticed how, especially among those skirting court’s edges, people seemed a lot less sure on what the appropriate conduct towards Raphael was, a lot of unsavoury rumours leaving many intimidated. “He asked if I was going to attend the ball everyone's been talking about. Apparently there will be some sort of theme…”
They hummed tunelessly, nodded, “I've heard of it. Or rather, I've heard there'll be social dancing in combination with said theme…some kind of callback to when such a thing was more common?”
Next to her, Lythil’s pet adjusted his position as she slipped her legs into his lap. He mumbled, “It's not been that long. It seems early to call it a theme.”
“You remember?” she asked him curiously.
“I was very young when it started going out of fashion…”
Sensing that the conversation was shifting, they asked, “Well, will you go?” They would go, of course. And they could not deny that their mind was already pondering all the delightful opportunities to annoy Raphael with him there, too. A ball like this allowed for so much more indirect interaction, if they played their cards right. “Is that all he said?”
“He joked about needing to practise his dancing beforehand.” She smiled, and they could tell that whatever she had thought of him before, his charm had worked on her.
“Maybe he was hoping you'd offer some lessons,” they suggested with a wink, and she laughed.
“He chose very poorly if it was a dancing teacher he wanted.”
“Does my lady not dance?” Her pet's fingers had halted in their absent-minded caress as he eyed her curiously.
“Not well,” she grinned, and said something else they did not catch, their mind already thinking about how to approach that ball. They'd have to talk sweetly to some of the organisers.
Chapter Text
Raphael turned in front of the mirror and watched the light catch in the golden circlet resting on his brow, reflecting in the black opal at its centre. He did not keep his hair long enough to style it in the elaborate tresses expected for the theme of tonight’s ball, but with the liberties he had taken in interpreting said theme, a circlet felt more appropriate anyway. With a satisfied grin he took in his reflection. The appropriate attire for tonight would have been a preference for light fabrics, colourfully and completely embroidered all-over, decorative cords and slit or gathered sleeves over contrasting, often just as heavily decorated, fabric below.
He had followed the silhouette for the most part, but had decided on the longer style that had been favoured then by the higher aristocracy — both the skirt of his coat and the wide top sleeves brushed the floor — and had taken that as an excuse to stay within their colour scheme, too.
Nowadays there was little visual difference at court between those circles closest to the duke and the rest of nobility, but there used to be times where the show of superiority had been part of the day to day. Of course Raphael had been unable to resist the opportunity, and had gone for a heavy, nearly all-black ensemble as would've been worn then by those above all but the duke himself. The fabric was heavy but had a lovely drape to it, especially where the oversleeves had been gathered and piled to rest mostly on his shoulders and upper arms so the wide bottom of it could flow to the floor at his elbow. The undersleeves revealed thus were so heavily embroidered in gold beads and sequins and cord even Raphael could scarcely tell that its base was black. It was not the easiest to bend his arms in, but thankfully not much of that was required for the dance style tonight.
Otherwise the embellishments were quite subdued — some fine gold bead embroidery at the hem of the skirt and the sleeves, the collar, gold cord lacing at the front and a gold belt at the waist. The skirt had been cut at an angle for mobility and to allow glimpses of the dizzying golden britches hugging his thighs beneath, the stockings a rich, contrasting black. He liked the thin gold rings decorating his horns better than the bigger ones in style right now.
He chuckled to himself. No, he didn't think the circlet was out of place at all. He looked regal. It was something he could get used to.
The fabric made a lot of noise as he turned away from the mirror, hand coming to his naked neck as he felt air rush past the skin there with the movement. It was the only part of the outfit that felt a bit wrong. For as long as he had been old enough to dress himself some form of neck covering had been in fashion.
Brushing the slight discomfort off, he left the room with confident, resounding steps. He loved how loud the shoes were.
The hall was already bustling when he entered, a flurry of light pinks and greens, of draped cream capes or sleeves. He spotted one or two guests who had dared to do as he had done, though Raphael noticed, with satisfaction, that none had done it as well as he had. No, of the few dark spots in the otherwise light crowd Raphael was the most striking, and he revelled in the heads that turned to catch a glance as he walked into the crowd.
It did not take long until a cool drink was pushed into his hand — too sweet when he sniffed it, but he was glad for it anyway as it soothed his parched throat — and conversation was started. The crowd was full of excited chatter about what the night might bring, exchanges of compliments, the occasional impatient comment on when the dancing would start. Raphael could barely hear the group talking to him, but it seemed to matter little as long as he smiled and laughed when the others did. Nothing of consequence was being discussed; it was too early for that.
Once the call came to get ready for the ball’s opening, brief chaos erupted as people hurried to their assigned spots all at once. Raphael waited until it had all calmed down a little before moving himself, still in some idle conversation with the lady to his right. She ended up staying to his right as they took their places and they exchanged a smile at the coincidence.
The smile vanished the moment Raphael turned around to look at his dance partner only to be met with familiar yellow eyes, perpetually lidded, a deliberately lazy grin on unnervingly lush lips.
He could see all the doubtlessly stupid comments going through their head reflected in those too-bright eyes, but to his surprise, their lips stayed sealed even as the time came to bow before the first note was played. They had fully indulged their preference for the naturalistic, the pale yellow fabric of their doublet and breeches covered in delicate vines and flowers of all sorts of colours, though even here they had not resisted using some gold for the detailing. They had opted for the slit sleeve style, the fabric beneath a deep, shiny black that made Raphael’s fingers itch to reach out and touch it when they stepped into each other's spaces as choreography required. The half-cloak spilling down their back had the same deep black sheen to it and rustled pleasantly as they twirled around each other, leaving that same sweet scent Raphael remembered from their first ball in its wake.
Again, they ended up on their initial spots, turned to face each other and bowed. There was something nearly mocking in how deep they lowered themself, doing little for Raphael’s irritation, his tight mouth and furrowed brows. All around them the dancers chatted low under the music, and Raphael made sure to give those to his side whose hands he'd take to switch places with them a smile.
They danced beautifully, movements fluid despite the rigid choreography, arm just at the right angle as they touched wrists, footwork impeccable as they took his hands and turned to take his place with flourish. Their hands were warm and their grin easy and full of meaning, their eyes twinkling with amusement and pleasure as they looked Raphael over again and again, gaze lingering on the embroidery at his neck, running up and down his body, coming to rest on his face.
Raphael hated how much he loved the attention, and knew that his own appraising looks were not going unnoticed, no matter how much he tried to keep his face neutral. They did not comment on it, not even when Raphael knew they had caught him returning a look. Somehow, the silence infuriated him more than any of their well-versed roundabout insults they had filled evenings with lately whenever Raphael had been unable to excuse himself from their company.
“You are awfully quiet tonight,” Raphael hated to be the one to break the tense silence, but he was tired of their quiet grin. His words were acid, “Did you finally choke on that silver tongue of yours?”
“Thank you for your concern, my lord, but I assure you my tongue is in perfect health.” To underline it, they ran the tip of their tongue over their upper lip, holding his gaze all the while before the choreography demanded them to turn from each other again. It did not discourage them from continuing the conversation, “I did not speak as I doubted I could say anything to smooth that sour look on your face anyway.” Voice lower, close to his ear, “Nor was I too eager to see it gone, it is very fun to look at.”
Raphael was glad for it being time to take the spot of the dancer next to him, twirl briefly with somebody who would not take notice of him composing himself again. He did not forget the charming smile before he turned back to face his initial partner again, stepping towards them.
“So I amuse you?” he said, voice perfectly measured as he met their eyes again as they turned, wrists touching.
“Very much.” They bowed too low again once on Raphael’s spot.
“And you, ungrateful as you are, do nothing but irk me in return,” he tried his best to sound biting, to make his words poison when the situation was once again tempting him into the playful.
“Oh, you know very well I could do much for you if you let me,” they hummed once they were back to back, then, once twirled out to face each other, they added with a wink, “Or did I not prove as much?”
“You proved yourself a capable liar, if anything.” He took their hand again, turned.
“Not a single lie came over my lips speaking to you. But I know arguing so is useless with you.” A dramatic sigh left their lips, “You are exceptionally stubborn, did anyone ever tell you?”
“I strive to be exceptional in all I undertake.”
They dared to laugh, if quietly, “Well, you are not quite succeeding in that, I’d say.”
Raphael fumed at the implication — the suggestive tone — but it was once again time to switch places with his neighbour, and he forced himself to smile and knew the flush on his face could easily be excused with the exertion from the dance.
The set was finally over, and still Raphael and they bickered as refreshments were acquired. Those who had danced around and with them joined to chat about how pleasant the evening had begun, how lovely the music had been, how nice it was to dance like this. Raphael was soon swept up into an argument about the music, and too aware of how Mephistopheles’ pet was watching him with open amusement even as they partook in some other chat with the other half of the group.
The music started up again after some time, and despite being free to choose who to dance with, Raphael found his hand in the same one as before, long-fingered and ringed as it led him back to the dancefloor to join the group they had been talking with.
*
They were beginning to regret what they had done. Making sure they'd dance with the disgruntled bastard had sounded like such a delightful opportunity to ruffle his feathers a little without him being able to escape, and oh it was fun, but they had not accounted for spending the night under Raphael's heavy gaze.
He had a way of looking up at them that always made them feel looked down at, and while the glimpses they'd catch of this had been quite thrilling at parties before, spending the night fighting said thrills lest he realise how he was making their spine tingle was a lot of effort. The venom in his expression and the disgruntled face were still a treat to behold, especially as the night went on and Raphael occasionally forgot that he was furious and his expression would morph into something more playful. He was evidently enjoying himself.
His more appreciative glances also got much more obvious the later it got. During the first dance they had caught them only fleetingly, a certain amount of contempt mixed into the begrudgingly appreciative looks he'd throw at them at a particularly beautifully executed twirl or a precise turning of their head. But wine and dancing softened the hardness in those eyes, and while there was still some anger in the burning orange of them, desire was blatant in his every glance towards the late hours of the night.
It unbalanced them. Not enough to ever miss a cue for a teasing retort, but enough to sometimes take just half a second too long for it. And the worst thing was they could not tell if he was doing it on purpose.
“You've not said a thing of my wardrobe tonight despite barely being able to take your eyes off of it, my lord,” they teased once, when they had once again been left alone by the people they had been talking with. They had gone for more drinks, but neither them nor Raphael had followed.
Raphael looked them over as if he had not not-so-subtly been doing so for the better part of the night. They grinned, and made sure that the grin did not waver even when Raphael’s eyes met their eyes with such blatant want their pulse quickened in their ears.
“It is an adequate ensemble for the theme,” how could his voice be so cool when he was looking at them like this? “But your insistence on rather eccentric motives for the embellishments is just as glaring here as it is in your usual.”
“Oh, but you certainly dressed to blend right in with the crowd, did you?”
“There is no crowd here worth blending into for me.”
They laughed, held out their hand as the music set in again, “Of course not, my lord, shall I go clean my lowly hands before daring to offer them for another dance?”
“They will suffice.”
The tiny grin on his lips when he took their hand made their heart skip a beat. They quickly turned around and pulled him back towards the dancing crowd.
Their intention had been to spend the night annoying him, teasing and taunting and watching that expressive face struggle to keep composure, listen for the trembling inhales in his acid tones. And that they did, and enjoyed every moment of it, loved how choreography forbade Raphael from hiding his face if they discomposed him as they danced. Not that he was one for hiding it, not if there wasn't a believable excuse for him to turn away. He was too proud to do that.
But clearly Raphael was determined to not make it such a one-sided game tonight. They had not expected half the looks they got in return to drive them to the brink of insanity. It had been easy to brush off as funny when it had been only the occasional hatred-and-lust-filled glance across the room at a party they both happened to be attending. It was entirely something else to have those eyes look right at them, unwavering, hard and smouldering at the same time.
They were beginning to feel dizzy with it, but did not want it to stop. They needed air.
Raphael agreed readily to the suggestion, which, considering the high, deep flush in his cheeks after yet another long dance, wasn't too surprising. He moved well in his clothes, but it had to be heavy and hot to dance in them.
Both took an almost simultaneous breath as they stepped onto the balcony, the ballroom’s chatter and music dampened by the doors falling closed behind them. The night was warm, but they were warmer still, so it still felt like a relief to breathe its air. Nobody else seemed to have chosen this particular balcony to cool off and they wondered if Raphael was half as relieved about the fact as they were.
They watched Raphael lean his back against the railing, watched some of the tension bleed out of his shoulders as he looked up at the sky. His bare throat, the small v of naked skin at the back of his neck had been terribly distracting to them all night. He knew. There was no way he wasn’t doing this on purpose.
The moment they pondered whether to approach was short-lived, the question of how close non-existent. Raphael’s warm body tensed against theirs as they pressed themself into him, hands coming to wrap around the railing next to his. They did not meet his eyes, only ducked to kiss his throat.
“What do you think you are doing?” Raphael mumbled, the annoyance in his voice falling flat with how breathless he sounded.
“What I want,” they straightened up but did not step back, grinned at the brief scrunching of Raphael’s eyebrows as he found himself straining to look up at them instead of the sky. “What you are too stubborn to do, princeling.”
Displeasure was evident on his face, and they knew exactly what words would come out of those lips when they parted, so they stopped them with a kiss, brief, but fierce enough to leave Raphael breathless. They wouldn’t get a word in otherwise after pulling away.
“You tire me with your paranoia.” Their thumb traced his knuckles, felt his grip on the metal railing tighten. “Even if I were reporting to your dear father about you, do you really think he cares about the cries of pleasure I draw from your pretty lips?” They watched his eyes widen a little, his lips part in a silent gasp. Their hand tracing his fingers moved on to lie against his hip, their lips coming to press a kiss to the tip of his ear. Their voice was but a low whisper as they mumbled, “You insult me by suggesting I leave enough time for talk to get anything of interest to him from you.”
Raphael inhaled sharply as their hand wandered lower, squeezed his thigh. “Not here,” his exhale came out a hiss, his hand coming to stop theirs.
They let him take the lead, followed him back into the stuffy hall and slipped into quieter hallways beyond after him. Patiently, they kept their hands to themself this time, watched the fabric of Raphael’s elaborate costume shift and rustle as he moved, its train keeping them at a distance.
Their self-restraint lasted exactly until the doors to Raphael’s room closed behind them. They drew him into their arms and kissed him, and Raphael met their hunger equally as he returned the kiss.
There was little tenderness between them, not much of the playfulness of the times before. There was urgency, and there was heat, and once Raphael’s breath calmed beside them and when he started to toss in his restless sleep, they slipped out of bed and into their clothes, and out through the door.
Notes:
evidently, what i actually want to write is balls and descriptions of the costumes worn at them, considering this is the second instance in less than 10 chapters...
Chapter Text
It became an unspoken agreement. Raphael stopped avoiding them at social gatherings. They conversed civilly, never alone — for he was still convinced they were trying to spy on him — and if any of the comments they exchanged in polite company seemed to be delivered with a particular playful sharpness or imply some sort of double meaning, those standing with them were none the wiser. They were both experts at walking the fine line of making the other understand without making bystanders suspicious.
They did not come together to these gatherings. Rarely did they leave together, and neither did they search each other out in the crowd. Outside of these parties and gatherings they did not see each other.
Still, on some late nights, usually long past the crowds had thinned, they’d come knocking at his door. Raphael let them in — not always, but usually — and there would be no space for words between them, mouths pressed together immediately, bodies flush. They left quietly before morning, Raphael exhausted and restless in his sleep.
It was Raphael’s plan to keep talking to a minimum. And they played along at first, knowing full well that as entertaining as watching Raphael’s every thought manifest in a myriad of frowns on his face was, they had never been one to follow the rules. And they were convinced that once the initial edge of this arrangement had smoothed — once Raphael had settled into it comfortably and no longer spent most of their time together tense, expecting them to try and interrogate him, ready to push them away — they would have a very easy time getting him to talk to them again.
They saw how much he itched to do it, loved how he wrinkled his nose and pressed his lips tightly together when he forced himself to keep quiet to the occasional taunt they couldn’t resist whispering into his skin. Had they kept completely quiet he would have probably grown suspicious, no?
It was still a mystery to them what exactly he expected himself to say that might be of any relevance to Mephistopheles in moments like these. They had found him vocal, but incoherent past a certain point, and so far his father had not inquired about a single word from his mouth, much less the half-gasped, broken outcries they’d draw from his pretty lips. Once or twice they had heard the name he had given them in those moments — and felt strangely triumphant knowing that no matter how cold Raphael acted towards them, no matter his refusal to call them by it again, he still thought of them by it. Things had not changed that much, no matter how much he pretended they had.
So they settled into their little arrangement easily, sufficiently satisfied with watching him fight the itch to counter their taunts and teases, happy to yield to his requests and happier still to deny him until he begged. When they felt like his perfume followed them throughout the day as they called on nobles and accompanied one pianist or another with their flute in the long afternoon, they'd avoid Raphael’s doors.
It thrilled them endlessly that they could, that they had a proper choice in this strange relationship of theirs, if one wanted to call it that. It thrilled them, too, how eager Raphael received them after being ignored, how hungrily he kissed them, how close he pulled them to him.
“Missed me?” They'd never fail to tease, despite getting but a glare, some kind of sharp retort surely burning on the tip of Raphael’s tongue.
They did not linger on their own impatience to see him again. Nor did they analyse the fact that after every disappointing, nerve-wracking instance of reporting to Mephistopheles their feet would thoughtlessly bring them to Raphael’s door. They did not ponder the disappointment when their knocks were ignored, appealed to needing distraction at the relief when they were admitted. The fact that the son was a poor distraction from the father — the same eyes, though rarely looking at them with Mephistopheles’ hard coldness — was not something they dared to touch on. There was little resemblance in their features, and where Mephistopheles voice settled like shards of ice in their spine, Raphael's thrilled, sent hot shivers through them. It was enough of a difference to get their mind off of things.
Lythil seemed to have belatedly remembered the morsel of information they had shared with her on her pet's artistic inclination. Or maybe he had mentioned it himself. He seemed to have settled comfortably into his new life, and possibly started realising that the master he now called his own was very indulgent, if only she knew what it was her pet wished to indulge in.
She had never enjoyed sitting for them, and her restlessness was evident as she tried to hold her position for him now as he painted her portrait. Talking helped, but she rarely sat still for it and they could see the small frown of frustration between her pet's pale brows as she kept shifting and laughing and turning to face them when they spoke.
They had hoped to be of some assistance in keeping her still but maybe they were making it worse. Their apologetic smile at the struggling artist was met with one of his pleasant, placid smiles, and they knew that even if they weren't helping, their presence was appreciated.
If they were to be completely honest with themself, they didn't even know what the conversation was about anymore. Their last visit to Mephistopheles had gone just as frustratingly as the others before, and they always struggled to shake the meeting off after leaving that room, to focus without finding their thoughts escape to the fact that they had been in his service for months and there had been no word of their freedom.
They wanted to ask. The question burned hotter on their tongue with every passing day, and sometimes they had to press their lips together to not let it slip as they gave their report.
Had it been any other master, any other question, they would have not tired of bringing it up over and over again. But there was something about Mephistopheles’ presence — something in the cold fire of his eyes — that scarcely made them dare to meander from answering the questions they were being asked, much less dare to ask one of their own or speak when not spoken to.
They frowned. Maybe their anxiety about the topic was clouding their perception. They had been very clear on what they wanted. Mephistopheles had agreed. Surely months of no word would warrant a reminder?
They imagined themself standing in that dimly lit room again, under Mephistopheles’ stern and yet dismissive expression. They remembered those empty eyed servants that admitted them to the room. All the barely-spoken rumours about how he had gotten that crown, the cruelties that met those who opposed or disappointed him.
Their question died on the tip of their dry tongue to simmer there, unspoken, burning into their skin as frustration and impatience ate at them. Raphael’s words on the matter came back to mind and they pressed their lips together. He would not be right. They’d make sure of it.
“Are you alright?”
If even Lythil was taking note of them spacing out, they were doing a very poor job at concealing it. They offered her a smile, and it was strangely easy to push their gloomy thoughts away when looking at her. They had done it for so many years, and it clearly still came naturally to them.
“I think a break would be a good idea, no?” Her pet frowned at them, but did not argue. None of them here at court seemed to do that much, if at all. “How about a game of cards or something?”
She pondered it for a moment. “I’ll order more pastries.” Turning to him with a smile, “Will you be so good and get the cards?”
Obediently, he nodded, “Of course, my lady. My eyes could use a moment of looking at something else before continuing the portrait.”
They could not tell if he was lying or telling the truth as they watched him disappear. She called one of the servants to order more refreshments and then got up and waved for them to follow her to the windowseat, which they did, glad for moving as it distracted from their thoughts.
He returned with the cards and more sweets were served, and the three of them settled into their comfortable chatter again. The topics were the usual court gossip and observations from some party or dinner, comments on the music played and the food served, on conversations had and overheard and dances danced. It was familiar.
Their thoughts drifted again. They refused to let them fall into the same gloomy spiral from earlier — they had a game to win, after all, and so far their cards didn't look too bad for that purpose — so they thought instead of Raphael. Lythil had mentioned him a moment ago, something about him entertaining half a dinner table with his conversation recently. They hadn't been there but they had little struggle imagining it. Raphael loved hearing himself talk, and knew how to do it just right to keep people's attention on him.
They were starting to miss it. Being one of many Raphael talked to wasn't quite the same as being his sole audience, having those heavy eyes trained on them as his lips forming words meant to vex them at least as much as theirs annoyed him, quick-witted counters to their every thinly veiled insult.
They shuddered at the memory. As amusing as Raphael’s current silence was, they wanted more. And they'd get it. He wanted to talk back to them so badly, that was obvious. Some day he would give in or burst. They just had to push him a bit more.
Maybe it was time to try testing the boundaries of this arrangement. Raphael seemed to have relaxed enough not to kick them out of the room at the first transgression. He'd thank them for finally bringing his self-imposed rules down. Restraint and self-denial suited him ill. They'd make him indulge again.
“It's your turn,” a polite voice came, and they realised they were sitting there, grinning to themself over their cards.
“Oh,” they chuckled, “my apologies.”
They sat up and tried to concentrate on matters at hand again. Lythil was talking about her struggles with some new scent that wasn't quite right, and her pet was watching them very curiously, intently. They winked at him, and set their card on the table.
*
By this point Raphael was convinced that there was something the duke was keeping from becoming public knowledge. Curious walls had been hit by his spies, reliable informants had disappeared. It could mean nothing, of course, and maybe if it had only been one instance of such blocks he would have accepted it as coincidence.
But not like this. Something was going on, and Raphael was going insane trying to figure out what it was without getting caught. He could not afford attracting suspicion when a moment ripe to strike might be coming soon. He would not make the same mistake again.
Biding his time while trying to subtly get to the bottom of the something just out of his grasp would not have been easy under the best of circumstances, but Mephistopholes’ personal pet was also starting to redouble their efforts in gaining access to his confidence.
He knew what they were doing. Subtle as they thought they were being, Raphael was attuned to when their taunting had turned into a real attempt to get him to speak again. The fact that it roughly coincided with his growing certainty of there being something to find out he had noted. They were trying to distract him, undoubtedly. He would not let them.
He raised his sword to block just a moment too late and had to quickly step out of the way instead. When he missed his opportunity for a counter attack Baelun lowered their sword, frowning. Raphael knew he was trying their patience today, but he simply could not stop thinking.
Baelun set their sword aside to sign. Something is different .
Raphael had never liked how they could tell. He spoke little, but spent much time with them, and they were unfortunately quite observant.
Thankfully, they weren't one for asking questions. Even this, Raphael knew, was more of a warning.
“Nonsense,” his body ached. How long had he been here already? “You're going easy on me. That's the problem.”
They frowned, a flicker of concern in their eye. He assumed they remembered quite well the last time he'd been this eager to deflect their warning.
Still, Raphael knew them about as well as they knew him, and Baelun had never been a particularly lenient teacher, and disliked being called so. They raised their sword again, and this time Raphael was ready, parried with a grin.
There was little time to rest after leaving the training grounds. He kept himself very busy lately, unable to refuse even the most trivial invitations for fear of missing a snippet of conversation, a half-slurred thought that might enlighten him on what was going on.
His mind was just as busy as before he had gone to Baelun. He hurried to dress himself after a quick bath and still could not stop thinking about what he ought to do about Mephistopheles’ pet spy.
Raphael hated little more than acting as his father expected him to. He glared up at the portrait above his fireplace. Constantly, Mephistopheles found small ways to remind him of his place, to make sure he knew he was far from free to do as he pleased. Again and again, Raphael grit his teeth and refused to be affected by it.
He was not afraid. And if he were, showing it would only make him seem more suspicious. Not that he'd grant Mephistopheles the satisfaction of seeing possible fear on Raphael’s face anyway.
Ignoring his father's reminders, however, usually didn't involve people insistently being in his space. And Raphael did not want to be watched closely now, not if there was a chance for him to seize the crown soon. He needed to plan for that. And the last thing he needed was somebody retelling his every step to the current holder of said crown.
So he wasn't entirely sure what to do, and his mind was turning in circles about it instead of coming to a decision. He thought avoiding them was the right idea, but it felt humiliating to show such wariness for Mephistopheles. It also felt like it might backfire easily if the act of avoiding them itself started seeming suspicious.
He guessed the nights spent together and the casual talks at social events balanced his dodging of their actual company whenever he could. But was it enough?
They clearly didn't think so. And Raphael really had more important things to do than constantly resisting them. Maybe he could even use them to give Mephistopheles false information? Would that be too obvious?
Raphael was already late when he finally left his rooms. He was still mulling over the same topic even as he returned his hosts' greeting warmly. It just wouldn't leave him be. He had to decide, if only so his mind would finally be free enough to think of more important things.
The small gathering was quite uneventful. Raphael felt like these sorts of parties all went the same, food and drink and chatter over a game of cards or something like it. There'd be music sometimes — and Raphael did enjoy the excuse to play, and loved even more how he didn't have to volunteer to do so. His skill at the piano was well-known, and more often than not he simply had to graciously accept the invitation to show off.
He heard nothing that caught his attention — he rarely did — but did have a rather pleasant conversation about poetry that left him eager to somehow squeeze a visit to the library into his schedule.It had been impossible to focus lately. Even here, in this quite cosy round, he couldn't help but feel tense. And wasn't it a general thing, a certain underlying tautness to the very air? Did any of the people here know, even though they were not saying anything?
Or was it all in his mind?
Despite the surprisingly stimulating company, Raphael had to excuse himself early. He had a dinner party he had to attend, a bigger event with more guests to listen to. He said his goodbyes with promises of continuing the discussion another time and made back to his rooms to change.
Once again he was late by the time he left his rooms, but he felt ready for another long night despite the days’ exertions starting to make themselves known. The scent he had put on was a new one, and its novelty was keeping his mind off his exhaustion for now. He’d see how long that would last.
When Raphael was admitted to the dining room, he heard a familiar voice, standing out clearly even amongst all the chatter. His mood soured a little. One of the many reasons why he had found himself unable to come to a conclusion about what to do about Mephistopheles’ pet was that they were everywhere . Scarcely a day passed without Raphael running into them at some gathering or another, and then he’d be too busy returning taunting glances with challenging ones of his own, or trying to stir them to actually spill anything useful when they ended up in the same group conversing. He’d only leave feeling irritated and like he needed to start considering the situation anew.
He did not have the energy to deal with them tonight, so after making sure to locate them — speaking to a lady Raphael had also been seeing around more and more, though he had spoken to her little — and what looked to be her pet, he kept away from that part of the room. They did not notice him right away, and Raphael made sure to mingle with a group further away. He had not completely given up on trying to use them to spy back, but he was certainly too tired for that kind of game tonight. Especially because they played it very well, he had to begrudgingly admit. But no, for tonight, he’d try to listen to those with tongues less guarded, and not think any further about the eyes he soon felt at his back.
His resolution did not hold particularly long. The moment they noticed him, their eyes kept wandering to him, a slight grin on their lips that probably looked perfectly pleasant to those speaking with them but that to Raphael read as an obvious taunt. He felt those glances even with his back turned and wondered why he could not simply stop being aware of them across the room. He did not humour them with ever approaching or making sure they were in the same circle of conversation, but neither could he stop himself from tensing under their gaze — it sometimes felt not unlike one of their teasing caresses, leaving him just a little dizzy — or occasionally returning it with irritation and quiet warning.
And so the dinner passed, and Raphael felt his concentration wane as the night grew late enough to be early. He was sore from practice, his head ached with the same questions. He tried to guide conversation where it might reveal something useful to him but could not focus. Eventually, he resigned himself to simply listening to the trickle of conversation around him, hoping his tired mind would wake should anything of interest be mentioned.
It was when he caught himself quite openly staring at Haarlep across the room that he decided it was time to retire. He started at thinking of them under that name. There was something very petty in him that had refused it since finding out about their lie, but it kept slipping back.
He excused himself from the group he was sitting with — it included the host so he would not have to go and search for her to give his thanks — and got up to leave. Mephistopheles’ pet was talking to that woman again. They seemed very familiar with each other. Raphael was too tired to ponder that, and slipped away from the crowded hall.
Despite him feeling sleep’s pull the moment he finally found himself in bed, Raphael couldn't sleep. They hadn't visited him in a while. The thought made him strangely anxious. Was that the name for the feeling? He craved the emptiness of his mind under their ministrations, the brief clarity of it when they were done. He frowned. The less time they were in his personal space the easier it should be to come to a conclusion about the situation. He turned and pressed his face into his pillow with an annoyed sigh, willing his thoughts to finally still. They were barely coherent anymore.
*
They had drunk a little more than they probably should have. Most of the guests had left already, but the room wasn't any quieter for the remaining ones spoke loudly. Loud enough to make them feel the wine they had drunk.
It was the headache that had them lean against one of the far walls, just to put a little distance between them and the noise. They wanted fresh air, but could hear voices from the nearby balcony. So they stood, a quiet grin on their lips as they watched Lythil all but overtake the conversation she had been part of for the better part of an hour. The glass in their hand was empty, even though their mouth felt dry.
They had missed Raphael leaving, but after so long of failing to find him they had resigned themself to the fact that he had gone. There had been a weariness to him tonight, to the way his eyes seemed just a little dull, his shoulders had not been quite as drawn back as usual.
They chuckled to themself. They had been looking a little too closely maybe. He had kept his distance all night, and yet they had noted the new perfume on him the one time he had gotten close. They closed their eyes, wondering why it had struck them as important. It wasn't like they were trying to get a new master in him.
Steps approached, and they looked up to a familiar sight. They nodded a greeting when Lythil's pet leaned against the wall beside them.
“I brought you some water,” he said quietly and pushed a glass into their free hand.
They had to drink first before finding themself able to say their thanks. Both stood in silence for a little while as they finished their water. Both were watching Lythil.
“You've been watching the duke's son all night,” it was a quiet, neutral-sounding statement, and for a moment they had to grin at the choice of calling Raphael the duke's son. There seemed to be much confusion about the correct address for him, and while this one was probably one of the politer ones, they could visualise how Raphael’s nose would wrinkle in distaste at it. They wondered sometimes what he wished to be called.
They realised Lythil’s pet was watching them with those bright blue eyes, and they realised the silence had been stretching for a while. They tried to read his expression. He was waiting for something, some specific reaction maybe. Maybe if their thoughts hadn't been so sluggish they could have figured out what. They were good at figuring out what people wanted from them. That's why they'd be free soon. Once they figured out what Mephistopheles wanted.
They licked their lips, feeling themself getting too close to the dark pit in their mind they put so much energy into walking around all the time. What had been said to them?
“You are very observant,” they half-slurred, unsure if superior observation skills had really been necessary tonight. They were getting too bold. Unfortunately, they loved how much it irritated Raphael. They had never seen features so beautiful when pulled into displeased grimaces. Did he know? He must. He never passed a mirrored surface without throwing his reflection an appreciative look.
But what were they thinking? They had to focus. Their answer seemed to not have been what Lythil's pet had expected. They brought the glass to their lips before remembering it was empty.
After another moment, he said, “It takes one to know one.”
The words weighed heavy with meaning, those eyes piercing right through their intoxicated haze. Something cold went through them. They were too warm to shiver at it.
“Ah,” they simply said to that. They heard Mephistopheles’ instructions clear in their head. It had been bound to happen at some point that one would find out what they were. They met his eyes levelly. “Did Lythil tell you?”
He shook his head. “Why did you leave her?”
They grinned. “I didn't.” Detaching themself from the wall, they pushed the glass back into his hand. “Thank you for the water. I think I should go.”
“He doesn't take Nameless,” he was still holding their gaze even as he accepted the glass.
They tried to hide their confusion. It was too late for this conversation. “A good night to you.”
He nodded. “Rest well.”
They left quietly after thanking the very drunk host. She probably wouldn't even remember it.
On their way to their rooms, they took a wrong turn or something. At least they didn't think the usual route would've brought them to Raphael’s door. They didn't knock, didn't even know why they had stopped. They itched to go through it. It had been a while since they had indulged him — or was it the other way around? — and right now they did not feel unlike they did after another visit to their master. Miserable. Raphael would have made them forget it for a little while.
It was late enough that even he would be asleep, tossing and turning with his brow wrinkled. They wondered if it was bad dreams, but had never dared to ask. What demons did he have to haunt him anyway, spoiled as he was?
They didn't know when they had set their hand against the dark wood of the door. He had looked exhausted tonight. They were so weary. Staring at the woodgrain of the door for another minute did not raise their spirits and they turned away to leave.
Chapter 9
Notes:
edited this chapter this morning and then forgot to upload it as i dug my fingers into contact cement and brioche dough.
Chapter Text
Raphael decided to yield. Not readily and not easily, and far from happily, but he did. Bit by bit, he started returning their jibes again. The few times they dared to stay until morning, he did not send them away.
It was humiliating to give in like this— even though he made sure they knew they were but tolerated, their purpose not forgotten— and they revelled in reminding him of it. I knew you missed me , they'd say, and if Raphael was too distracted with their lips and hands to glare at them, they'd try again once nothing could distract him.
“Just because you won't say it doesn't make it any less true, you know?”
Raphael wished they'd stop talking. His mind was still pleasantly hazy, his body still hot even as his breathing had calmed. The first rays of sunlight were falling through the gaps of the canopy, and he did not want to think just yet. Their lips felt nearly cool as they pressed them to the spot between his shoulderblades, chuckling teasingly when he twitched at it.
Raphael itched to send them away. He leaned into them with a sigh as they ran their fingers up his chest. They always wasted so much of his mornings when he should be working.
“Won't you admit that you missed me terribly?” Raphael could hear the exaggerated pout on their face.
It grated at him, their persistent taunting about this. He knew they cared little about his response but only wanted to remind him that they had persisted and won. And Raphael did not like it.
“Only as much as you missed me,” he spat, wishing he could declare that it had nothing to do with them and all to do with him trying to outwit his father. He had never been particularly good at swallowing his pride, and they had clearly picked up on it if they kept prodding him about it.
They chuckled , and Raphael froze as he felt their hot tongue run up his spine, heard their low purr by his ear, “What a dangerous thing to say so lightly, pretty princeling,” their voice dripped heavy with sarcasm, only annoying Raphael more, “You do not know how much I yearned and ached for you while you barely graced me with a look and refused me every word.”
Their fingers were wandering down his torso again, and Raphael hid the hitch of his breath by sitting up and slapping their hand away. There was only so much insult he was willing to take quietly this early in the day. He put on his dressing gown as he got to his feet and left the room, their laughter grating against his ears as he closed the bedroom door behind him.
He had barely finished pouring his coffee when he heard the bedroom door open again. Raphael did not look up from his book as he felt them take the seat across from him.
“How come you always get served enough breakfast for two?” They pondered pointedly while biting into something that made too much noise.
Raphael ignored them, finding it unnecessary to remind them that it had been the case before they had started to stay for breakfast, too. It was low bait and he wasn't riled up enough to take it. He’d not give them the satisfaction.
His silence, however, only seemed to delight them more. “Did I forfeit the right to your tongue once more?” Raphael felt them run their toe along his leg under the table as their voice lowered mockingly, “Do I not please you?”
Raphael glanced up at them, “What would please me is you putting some clothes on before breakfast.”
“Would it? You seem rather fond of them being off in the bedroom. The view should be the same, after all.” They grinned, leaned back in their seat. “Better lit here.”
“You know exactly that it has nothing to do with the quality of the lighting.”
He had to begrudgingly admit to himself that they did look lovely in the early morning light falling through the windows. It played nicely on their dark skin, made the deep black of their dishevelled hair seem nearly blue. With the warm light on their face their yellow eyes looked soft. Raphael averted his gaze, trying to decide what to eat next with more focus than necessary.
“What is it then? Decorum?” They sighed, chewed some more. “Why deny yourself the pleasure of looking at me for such arbitrary reasons?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I can imagine better things to look at.”
The intrigued, drawn out hum was paired with the noise of their chair being pushed back so they could rise. “Oh, is that so?” Raphael still refused to look at them, but tensed at the soft noise of their approaching steps. He was barely breathing by the time their elegant fingers came to tip his head back, forcing their eyes to meet. Their grin was dizzying. “Do share.”
His lips parted to respond but their claw came to press down so gently on his lower lip it rendered him mute, answer dissolving in a trembling breath.
“Myself,” he breathed once he caught himself again, grinned. The motion made him feel the slight sting of their claw more keenly, sent a slight shiver through him.
They chuckled, though he thought they sounded just a little breathless, too. “I admit I don't strictly disagree with that sentiment…” they mumbled while leaning down to press their mouth to his, to replace the pleasant sting of the tip of their claw with the yielding softness of their lips. Their warm tongue slid into his mouth, and Raphael hummed against it, grabbed one of Haarlep’s horns and pulled them lower to make returning the kiss in kind easier.
They took it as an invitation, put their hand firmly on the ankle he had crossed over his knee and pushed it off so they could settle in his lap. Their skin felt too hot as he wrapped his free arm around them, the knee keeping his legs apart just shy of where the heat would feel good. Raphael fought the urge to press himself into it, arched instead into the drag of their claws down his chest, his stomach. They chuckled low and bit his lip, and he could not help the surprised gasp that escaped him.
While Raphael’s mornings had started to be more free, his days were as busy as ever. He had not been particularly successful in his research yet, but he was sure that the particular tension he thought he sensed about those at court with the closest ties to the outside — especially those with trade routes beyond the duchy — was not his imagination.
Raphael started specifically picking parties and dances with such people in attendance, went out of his way to be present at gatherings most frequented by those visiting or coming through from beyond court. They were quite the colourful parties, full of chatter and topics not too removed from the usual, but with different views and approaches picked up on the roads to Mephistopheles’ court, in places far away. Raphael found the company stimulating, if often rough around the edges, manners not as refined as those in permanent residence tended to be. Which was, in itself, refreshing.
Few seemed to know who he was, which was both insult and blessing, as few had any basis for refusing his offer to dance or general company.
He had chosen a rather quiet partner for his dance today. They had been introduced by one of Raphael’s recent acquaintances and she would not be staying at court for long. There had been something in the vagueness of her response at his polite inquiry about what had brought her here that had intrigued Raphael, and as she had no reason to deny him, they danced.
She did not yield any specifics on her motives to come here, but she was a pleasant enough conversationalist, if often her answers came a bit too short. Raphael couldn't tell if she was naturally shy or was keeping such information to be directly discussed with the duke. She had said that she had come to see Mephistopheles, at the very least.
After a couple dances Raphael was confident that he had gotten as much out of her as he could tonight. He thought she liked him fine, the smiles she returned looking genuine and often flustered, her eyes stealing glances up at his face when she thought he was not looking. He might be able to get more out of her if he kept coincidentally finding himself in her general space for the duration of her stay at court. For tonight, he should not push his luck much further or she’d definitely grow suspicious. So he delivered her back to their mutual acquaintance, a ghost of a kiss to the back of her hand and a smile on his lips as he met her eyes, “It was a pleasure I hope to indulge in again.”
Her eyes widened a little in surprise, but a grin was pulling at the corner of her lips as she said, “Gladly.”
He gave a nod before turning away, satisfied with himself. The night was still young, and full of opportunity to try and listen for tidings from beyond.
But first he needed something to drink.
Raphael had just succeeded in getting a cooled glass of something mildly sparkling he could not wait to taste when a hand settled on his shoulder from behind. Surprised, he turned around only to briefly tense, eyes narrowing. This was an entirely too public place for this familiar face.
“A dance?”
The tone was light, but Raphael did not miss the urgency in the scarlet eyes boring into his. There had to be news, and considering she had come to deliver them herself they had to be big. He took the proffered hand at last, and allowed her to lead him back to the dancing crowd, his drink forgotten.
Vys had been one of the first spies he had started working with after his absence from court life nearly a century ago now. She was just low enough in rank to not draw suspicion even if she spent a lengthy amount of time with the servants, her trade giving her dizzying flexibility to move freely between within and without the palace's walls as she pleased. Raphael had never managed to charm many details as to her motivation to join him in his endeavour, but the anger in her eyes burned hot and dangerous whenever Mephistopheles was mentioned, and eventually he had extended the closest things to trust he could towards her.
The music was a little too lively to invite quiet speaking on the dancefloor, so they danced without exchanging another word. He tried to glean from her silence what it was she needed to tell him urgently enough to approach him publicly.
Her mouth was always in a tight line, so it meant little. Her shoulders were carefully relaxed, her eyes never leaving his. There was impatience in them and he wondered why she hadn't drawn him into the more quiet hallways to speak if she wanted to tell him something this desperately.
He guessed it would have been more suspicious than this. He guessed, too, that she wasn't intending on having a conversation, but rather wished to tell him something before parting ways again. It's what she liked to do most times. Vys was careful to be seen with him enough to not draw suspicion when it happened, but to never linger long enough for anyone to ask questions.
The music finally changed and Raphael went easily when she drew him closer. She always seemed to smell of the outside, leaving him with a strange yearning.
She did not look around suspiciously before lowering her head, barely perceptively, to his ear. She did wait until they were in the middle of the other dancers before doing so. Had Raphael not been straining to listen, he would have not understood a word of what she mumbled. As it was, he briefly froze only for her to yank him along.
A moment passed before he saw the opportunity to quietly hiss, “Are you sure?”
She twirled him away from her with a warning look, and they danced quietly for a bit, her hand pressing into his lower back insistently, bidding him to relax. It was a nigh impossible task with his brain already working to try and consider the implications of what he had just been told.
“Not yet,” she eventually whispered, and before Raphael had had the time to tilt his head up to glare at her, she added, “But I will soon. You'd be angry had I not told you of such suspicions.”
He had to concede. Despite a million questions popping into his head about where she had heard of this and why she thought it was so likely to be true she had come to tell him, he said nothing. This wasn't the place nor the time. And besides, she had never liked him questioning her.
They danced through two more pieces, and by the time they bid their farewells Raphael was parched. He made sure to finally drink and forced himself to linger and do as he usually would even though all the noise and chatter seemed but an annoyance, a disturbance to his rapidly working mind. He did not look for Vys in the crowd, but mingled freely without really finding the focus to pay attention to the conversations happening around him.
By the time it was late enough for him to excuse himself, he had successfully failed to absorb a single word spoken in the past hours, and was fairly sure he must have passively agreed to some kind of invitation from the group he had been sitting with towards the end. He'd have to find a way to subtly inquire about it. Maybe his absentmindedness had seemed enough like drunkenness he could use that as an excuse to ask for the specifics again.
He would not allow himself to linger any longer on Vys’ information. Not until he was certain. Preparations could be considered, but he would not move without knowing if things had really turned at the war front.
*
It was eerie how similar each visit to Mephistopheles went. They had assumed — hoped — that their new master might warm up to them, maybe give them different instructions as he learned what they did best. Maybe let them show off what they really excelled at. It would probably get them closer to freedom quite a bit faster than this .
But no. Nothing about their meetings had changed except for their growing disillusionment with the whole situation. It was still mostly them who spoke. Those who attended to the duke’s needs while they were in the room still had those chilling, empty eyes, adding to their frying nerves. They did not think they’d ever get used to it.
Mephistopheles still asked the same questions, nearly always at the exact same pauses they took. And their responses were always similar, nothing of note had reached their ears since they started doing this. This all felt like a great waste of time.
Had their meetings not always been the same, they might have never noticed the first time he had asked, at the very end, “And is that all?”
They had been briefly struck speechless at the unexpected addition. There was nothing in the duke’s voice that betrayed any kind of emotion, nor had his expression changed at all, eyes still resting in near-boredom on them. But the question was new. It had to mean something, there had to be a reason for it to be asked.
They had wrecked their brain for so long trying to find the answer Mephistopheles wanted to hear — to figure out what he might actually be asking — that he had started to slowly, menacingly tap one finger against the table. Expectant.
Unwilling to push his patience any further, they had simply answered with the truth, “Yes, your grace.” They forced themself to be calm. “That was all.”
They thought the silence that followed was just a little too long. He dismissed them as usual, and it felt like relief as it always did. Maybe more so this time, as they tried to figure out what that strange new addition to their exchange was about. Had they missed something in their report? But usually he asked them when that was the case. And he hadn’t looked displeased at their response, necessarily. Had he expected a specific response or had it been a genuine question?
They still had not figured it out, even though their last two reports had ended on that same note. It was annoying, it was frustrating. They were supposed to be good at this. Not necessarily at the spying, but at the very least at figuring out what it was their master wanted. It had always come naturally to them, watching and listening and coming to conclusions of what was expected of them, of what might please. Every time they stood before Mephistopheles it felt like that particular skill — the very one that had brought them to stand before him in the first place — had evaporated. And with it all their hopes to gain their name and be free.
They knew it wasn’t true. Raphael was cracking beautifully under their insistent attention, so clearly they still knew what they were doing. Why could the father not be a little more like the son? It would make things so much easier.
Not that Raphael was giving in particularly easily. But he was giving in, tongue yielding much like his body did under their kisses, their touch, and they loved it. His tongue had lost none of its sharpness, and he still looked delightfully displeased every time he spoke to them, and it was beautiful.
They would have been terribly disappointed had he lost all his stubbornness. This was a lot more fun, to be barely tolerated in his presence, and yet be accepted enough to push and prod at him, be rebuked and watch him simmer as he struggled to once again remove their privilege to his words. He never succeeded.
They enjoyed spending more time in his pretty apartment, too. Usually their mornings ended if not in bed, then at the breakfast table. But on mornings when he awoke more tolerant to their presence he'd allow them to linger sometimes, showed them the other rooms with pride — let them push him against the balcony's railing for a kiss, denied them getting any closer to the beautiful private bath. They'd fix that eventually, but for now they were enjoying their little back and forth too much to press. After all, there were plenty of mornings when Raphael wasn't in a tolerant mood at all and they'd leave without so much as a word spared for them. Granted, usually they had already spared quite a few for him in those cases, enough to eat away his patience. But it was just so fun.
It was during one of those mornings when Raphael did tolerate their presence that they found their mind wandering to the portrait above his fireplace again. Not that they had ever stopped wondering about it. It felt omnipresent in the main room, a severe and grand centrepiece all seating areas had been arranged around, as if whoever did it had been keen to not let all people sitting in this room forget that they resided at the duke’s mercy, ate from his plates at his court. Lived under his watchful eye.
Raphael did not strike them as one in need of such a reminder, nor did it make a whole lot of sense to keep a portrait of somebody he could barely speak of without ire and acid choking his words. Was he trying to keep face? No, his opinion of the duke was, if not public, well-rumoured, and never had they heard him try and amend that. Besides, he did not seem to host people frequently if at all in his own rooms, so nobody would see this pretend proof of loyalty.
So what was its purpose? Raphael took great pleasure in his own space, and it did, in many ways, feel undeniably his. The preference for marble, ornaments on the wall kept in the same colours he liked to wear, furniture rich without being overbearing. They had spied many a ornate writing desk, plush red and gold chairs around. There was a thoughtless decadence to it all, as to be expected from one born and spoiled in court's comfort. It suited him.
The portrait simply seemed out of place. If anything, they were surprised not to find a single painting of the rooms’ inhabitant. He spent enough time gazing into the mirrors scattered about to make clear that his reflection pleased him. There had been no lie to that particular jibe from a week or so ago.
“Raphael?” they dared to ask, still unsure if it was a good idea to bring this up, but too curious to continue on wondering. Personal questions tended to send their gracious host into high alert.
“Hm?” Raphael didn’t even look up from the book he was bent over. Haarlep itched to poke him under the table, but resisted, crossing their legs instead. The smooth, cool fabric shifting against their leg made them shiver. Raphael had complained about them coming to breakfast naked so many times they had stolen one of his dressing gowns. It had earned them a disapproving frown, but they guessed he could not argue that they were sufficiently dressed, as he always wore one to breakfast himself.
“Considering you can scarcely bear hearing his name spoken…why do you have a giant portrait of your father over the mantlepiece?”
The hand that had been bringing Raphael’s cup of coffee to his mouth froze as his eyes met theirs. They had no time to start at the sudden attention because another movement from Raphael’s hand sent his cup flying, shattering against the portrait. Haarlep turned to look at it in shock and disbelief, confused to find the painting completely unharmed, untouched, the shards lying in a dark coffee stain right below it, between the two low sofas that framed the fireplace. They weren’t entirely sure what they had just witnessed. Magic. The portrait seemed to be protected.
When they turned back to Raphael in shock, his eyes were still boring into them. He hadn’t graced the portrait with a single look the entire time.
“I did not put that painting there, and neither can I take it down. I have no choice but to live with it.”
It surprised them. The fact that Raphael had not chosen the painting himself hadn’t even occurred to them, though in hindsight it was the only explanation that made any sense. It surprised them more to realise that the only person who could have put it there was the one in the picture itself. It seemed a petty cruelty, a low amusement. Not something they could imagine the cold, imposing figure they reported to indulging in.
Raphael poured himself a new cup of coffee, smile wry. “You look surprised.”
They did not want to admit it. “Why don’t you change the furniture so it’s not quite so…central?”
Raphael made a point to finish his coffee before answering, “Have you seen its size? It draws the eye no matter where in the room you are.” There was a stubbornness in his tone, a determination. He refused to hide from Mephistopheles’ gaze.
They were still caught up on why the portrait had been put there in the first place, “But why —”
“So I don’t forget.”
He moved to pour himself another cup of coffee, clearly believing the conversation to be over. But it was making very little sense to them. Forget what? Raphael did not draw a single breath without thinking Mephistopheles was watching him. And something told them that that would still be the case if Raphael did not return home to the portrait every night. There had to be more. They had to be missing something.
“Forget what?”
Raphael’s hand froze once more while bringing the cup to his lips, but this time he did not fling it across the room. He just held still and watched them closely with a mixture of confusion and annoyance in his eyes. At their non-reaction, he raised a brow, “If your master failed to brief you I do not see why I should make up for his shortcoming.”
He took a sip before breaking off more from the pastry he had been eating, and it was clear that he would not say more on the matter. With an irritated sigh, they turned to their own plate again and breakfast continued silently.
They didn't think there could be much to Raphael’s vague comment. Bastard that he was, he still had evidently spent all his life accustomed to the luxuries of court, and while some seemed unsure as to what exactly his status was, they had never heard of anyone meeting him with less than some level of respect.
What could he possibly need a reminder of to speak of it so darkly?
They frowned at the paintbrush between their fingers. There wasn't much left of the wall to finish, but they wondered if they should retire it now rather than awkwardly work around the disintegrating hairs.
They put a bit of distance between themself and their canvas. Absentmindedness had them work without putting much thought into it, but it didn't look any worse than the rest. They smiled to themself and went back to it, wondering what they would do with more quiet mornings once this was done.
It wasn't long before their mind drifted back to Raphael. They weren't sure what response they had hoped for to their question about the portrait. One that wouldn't have left them with more questions, they guessed. Something silly and petty that only made sense in Raphael’s tragically paranoid mind.
And in a sense they had gotten just that. Except that they could not fathom a reason for Mephistopheles to put that painting there. It seemed odd, even if Raphael’s explanation was just another manifestation of his paranoia. There was no real other reason that sounded any more sensible.
They were curious enough to ask Raphael, but they knew he would not answer. Tolerant as he was of them invading his space, he was always on high alert. If the conversation drifted into too personal territory. He'd only glare at them suspiciously, refusing to answer further questions.
Asking Mephistopheles was out of the question. They didn't even dare voice the question that burned their tongue every time they walked through those doors.
With a frustrated sigh they looked out the window. It was getting late, and there was no way they'd finish the wall without missing part of their first engagement for today.
Feet on the floor once more, they pondered the old paintbrush in better light and decided to set it back in with the others before moving to get dressed.
Maybe they could try to shift some conversation or another to see if anyone else knew. Raphael himself was a popular topic that popped up semi-regularly at dinners and parties, though it was often more superfluous commentary. Now that they thought about it, they couldn't remember having ever heard anyone speak in a way that suggested they knew him any better than anyone else did.
But surely if the duke himself went out of his way to give him a reminder of something, that something had to at least be known, if just in rumour? Or had Raphael simply been dramatic?
It seemed impossible to decide which seemed more plausible, and their sudden realisation of being completely unaware of anything resembling a closer circle to Raphael even after all this time was already beginning to distract them. Paranoid as he was, they weren't surprised to see few confidantes, but none seemed a little excessive.
They braided their hair and thought of who seemed most likely to know anything. As far as they could tell, court had a consistent flow of comings and goings, and they did not know how far back whatever Raphael might have alluded to lay.
The smile of their reflection was a wry thing. Having close to nothing to work with had become a too common state for their liking.
With a last assessing glance at the crimson fabric hugging their form in the mirror, they turned to leave.
Chapter Text
It had been a long and busy week. They all were lately, Raphael guessed, but there had been something about this one in specific — redoubling his efforts in trying to get to the bottom of Vys’ premonition as he waited for her to contact him again, making sure to balance those efforts with more pleasurable meetings with new and old acquaintances, returning to his sword practice because Raphael felt like he might just explode with the tension that had been building since Vys’s message — had made him all but forget about Haarlep. Them. Whatever. Raphael had slipped so many times lately, and he really had more important things to focus on than avoiding saying the mocking nickname he had given them.
He hadn’t seen them around any of the gatherings all week, and by the time they had knocked at his door the night before, he had been genuinely surprised by their presence. Somehow, with everything else, the fact that he had his father’s personal spy to worry about had briefly slipped his mind with their absence. Of course, it had all returned when he opened his door to find them on the other side. Still, he let them in. Still, he kissed back when they drew him close, shuddered as silky strands of hair brushed against bare skin later when their kisses trailed ever-lower, and Raphael found his mind once again pleasantly blank of his worries.
It occurred to him only in the morning how strange it was that he had been at so many parties over the week without glimpsing them once when before he had found himself often wishing to catch a break from their presence as they seemed to be everywhere at once. He guessed there was always enough going on at court for them to not walk in the same circles all the time. But their pattern changing after Vys’ tentative information…maybe Mephistopheles had more pressing matters to use his spy for than Raphael. Or maybe that is exactly what he wanted Raphael to think.
He watched their sleeping face as if he could find their father’s plans written in their features. He did not. If they had been hidden in their face somehow he would have figured them out a long time ago with how often he found himself taking it in in the morning.
Raphael didn’t even know why he did it. It had been the novelty at first — the discovery that that first morning when they had woken first had been the exception — and now he assumed it was a habit.
He’d wake to their quiet presence beside him and turn to them curiously despite knowing by now that more often than not, they’d sleep in. It had taken him a bit to be convinced they weren’t pretending as he’d always find them in positions walking a fine line between decadently relaxed and tantalisingly posed, seemingly too perfect to not be staged.
Today was no exception. Their face was turned away from him, hair splayed like liquid night on the pillow around their head. Long fingers lay lightly against the arch of their neck, their other hand tangled in the black strands above their head, arm at an angle that showcased smooth skin and every decadent curve of muscle. It was infuriating to look at. Who slept like this?
Raphael detangled himself from the sheets he had nearly exclusively claimed for himself during the night and quietly left the room. He needed some air.
Breakfast was set in the other room, covered still to keep it warm, but his eyes went to the tray waiting right where he usually sat, holding letters and notes he liked to go through before Haarlep joined him. It had little to do with the mail's relevance — usually an exchange of pleasantries, invitations and the occasional request for an opinion on one thing or another — but he liked having his correspondence out of their sight on principle, even if he'd often only get to the proper reading until later.
Raphael picked up the letter at the top of the small pile, and immediately noticed the neat, bold lettering of the envelope beneath it. Letter in his hand forgotten, he grabbed the other, pulse picking up as he ripped the envelope open with his claw. Vys rarely sent letters for pleasantries, no matter how much they tended to read like it.
He read it once, quickly, and then again more slowly. By the time he reached for the envelope he had set aside, the steadily burning fire had already turned Vys’s letter to ash.
There was little of interest otherwise, and Raphael put everything aside for later consideration after a quick skim. Restless, impatient for Haarlep to finally rise, and eventually leave, he poured himself a cup of coffee and moved to the balcony.
The sun was just beginning its rise, the air still crisp. He welcomed it, inhaling deeply as he brought the hot cup to his lips. Leaning on the intricately carved railing, he looked out at the landscape beyond — too rocky to grow more than low bushes and stubborn, short trees — and tried not to think. He'd have to postpone that until he was alone lest the little spy suspected something.
It wasn’t easy. Timing was of the utmost importance now, and Raphael had to figure out how much of it he had before this information became public knowledge. Vys seemed to believe that it had already been kept secret for at least a month, if not two. At some point even Mephistopheles’ iron grip on what information entered court would not be able to hold this off.
There had always been war at the borders of the duchy. As long as Raphael lived, he remembered talk of it, and most of it went back even further. The only thing that ever changed was the exact place, and, very occasionally, the shift in favour of one side or the other. It was a rare thing — for the fighting to continue this long, both sides had to be levelled — and Raphael had only witnessed a significant shift in the warfronts once in his life. It had been a significant enough thing that court had been chaos, swarmed by those fearing for their trade routes and business with the threat just marginally closer than usual. Those permanent residents at court had gotten swept up in the panic despite having little to fear. It was the perfect time to try and get the crown.
Steps pulled him out of his reverie, and he did not bother to turn around as a hand came to rest on his shoulder. Their voice sounded close enough to his ear to make him tense, words still slurred slightly with sleep, “So tense so early in the morning, my prince.”
“I am no prince,” he said coldly. They weren't the first to call him so in jest. Raphael had little interest in being anything but the Archduke.
“You might not be a prince, but nothing can stop you from being my prince.” Their hand slid slowly forward, fingers grazing the bare skin where his dressing gown parted. “Unless, of course,” Raphael did not let his surprise at how close their voice was show, did not shudder as their hot breath brushed against his ear, “you'd rather be my spoiled princess.”
A swipe of their tongue along the sensitive shell of his ear, and Raphael hid his shiver by pushing their face away, “Stop with that.”
They laughed, wrapped both arms around him from behind and propped their chin up on his shoulder. The silence that followed was brief before they asked, “What were you looking at?”
Raphael hadn’t been looking at anything, too lost in thought. He tried to focus again, saw that his eyes were set on a spot a bit farther off where the trees grew denser. The river wasn't visible through their foliage but he knew it was there.
“Maybe I'll take you sometime.”
They went quiet, as if surprised, and he guessed they had all right to be. He wasn't sure why he had said that, either.
Peace never did last with them. “Oh, you are in a generous mood today.” Their hand came to his chin, tilting it to the side so Raphael finally had to look at them. It was impossible to tell whether it was the sun or mischief that made those yellow eyes glint in that moment. Probably both. “Does that mean you will finally allow me in the bath?”
Raphael grinned. Ever since the bath had been mentioned Haarlep had tried to persuade him to grant them entrance. Apparently they enjoyed the public ones and seemed delighted by Raphael having his own.
There was no particular reason to deny them, but he still did, and did it grinning, “No.”
Disappointment would have been blatant on their face even without their deep, long-suffering sigh. “You are no fun. Breakfast and a pleasant soak in some hot water would be the ideal way to start the day.”
They pulled away from him, leaned against the railing beside him. Raphael took the opportunity to straighten up, roll his shoulders. He looked at them from the corner of his eye.
“You are welcome to go and have breakfast in the public baths, if you wish.”
“And forsake such stimulating company as you are?” Grinning, they met his eyes, “Never.”
He sighed and shook his head before walking past them and back inside. “Wearing an open dressing gown does not fall under wearing clothes, by the way.”
They rolled their eyes and followed him back inside, making no move to fix their state of undress.
Raphael had assumed he might go another week without seeing Haarlep. It would have suited him well, as he had much to consider and more to do. Time was of the essence. The letter had not made it sound like it'd be long before things became public knowledge.
Haarlep apparently sensed it — or maybe their master had grown suspicious despite Raphael’s care — for they started to bother him even during the day.
The fact that they had slowly but surely started to go out of their way to end up in the same vague conversation circle at events as Raphael had been noted before. But not two full days had passed since their parting in the morning when he heard familiar steps approach the booth he was reading in at the library.
“I'm not in the mood for your company,” he mumbled and turned the page as he felt them take the seat across from him. There had been little time for reading last time they had found him here, and Raphael already had scarcely little time to indulge in it lately.
“Who said I'm here for yours?” came the retort, accompanied by a pointedly audible opening of a book.
Raphael looked up with a frown. “In an empty library, you chose to sit there.”
“The light is the best here.” They turned the page they had had no time to fully read.
“I assume you checked everywhere else,” sarcasm and irritation were clear in Raphael’s voice.
They grinned, and despite not looking up, Raphael still noticed it. “Of course I did.”
With an annoyed tsk , Raphael returned to his own book. He guessed if they kept quiet he could simply read on, despite their presence.
Their silence did not last particularly long. “What are you reading?”
Raphael sighed, “I thought you hadn't come for my company.”
“Maybe I'm looking for recommendations.” he felt them lean in closer from their spot across, possibly trying to get a better look at the book in Raphael’s hands. “Poetry still?”
“Will you be quiet?”
“Read to me?” they asked after a brief pause.
“No.”
“There's nobody here to be disturbed by it,” they insisted.
Raphael sank deeper into his chair. “I would be.”
They sat back again with an irritated sigh. “You are painfully stubborn.”
“And you exceptionally annoying,” he returned, expecting them to leave.
Instead, they took up their own book again and settled back into the seat across from him.
It turned into a semi-recurring disturbance, them searching him out on the few occasions Raphael would find himself alone. They teased him about possible trysts when catching up with him in the gardens, initiated unnecessary, taunting conversations when meeting him in the hallways. Sometimes their commentary seemed just a little sharper than usual, and Raphael returned in kind, making no secret of his annoyance and displeasure at their forced company.
“If my presence displeases you so you could simply go,” they hummed one time when they caught him once more walking between sweet-scented flowers back to his rooms.
It did displease him. And it irked him how often they seemed to find him not long after he had met with one of his informants, like now, and it made him wonder if this was their new strategy. To intercept him having the time and opportunity to plan.
Well, it would not stop him. And going out of his way to avoid them would not only be suspicious, it would also be undignified, so he bore with them. If he denied them entrance to his rooms at night more frequently, it was out of pettiness for their continual annoying presence, and he made sure they knew.
*
They were having little success in finding out more about Raphael. It was much as it had seemed — most at court knew of him, but their knowledge did not go particularly deep. There were vague rumours about his past, but they found little in common in the loose snippets they'd pick up here and there.
The problem was maybe that they did not dare to inquire too directly. The last thing they needed was Raphael finding out they were inquiring about him. He was irritating enough at his current level of paranoia and their nerves were already stretched thin at his constant reminder of what they'd like not to think about.
Mephistopheles had still not manifested the ardent obsession with his son Raphael seemed to be so sure of, and with every passing too-tense meeting it seemed less likely that he'd develop one. The changes to their instructions lately were unnervingly subtle but undoubtedly there. None of them had to do with Raphael. And trying to get to the bottom of what exactly it was their master expected them to do from those strangely vague, curt instructions was starting to give them a perpetual headache. It was the last thing they wanted to think of when trying to distract themself with Raphael.
They were doing so too much, they knew. But he was still so delightfully distracting, and upon no success in learning about his past from a third party they thought they might try getting him to spill something. After all, there was no topic that pleased Raphael at social gatherings quite as much as Raphael.
But they noticed quickly that he, too, never went particularly far back in his gloating. And of course towards them he surrendered every morsel of personal information with greatest care and alertness. They were getting nowhere trying to satisfy their curiosity.
And yet they did not stop. They weren't sure why.
Part of it was surely the thrill of doing as they wished. Raphael was no part of their master’s instructions, nor was there anything they were working towards achieving from him. There would be no more masters soon enough, and this was purely for fun, for the pleasure of it, the joy in annoying Raphael so thoroughly.
And maybe they were enjoying it a little too much. More often than not as banter went back and forth between them and Raphael grew more disgruntled they’d forget the objective to get him to talk about himself in the pleasant amusement of it all. Near-freedom was clearly making them careless.
“I could really do with a bath,” Raphael mumbled beside them, words slurring a little with wine and exhaustion. He spoke to himself, quietly, and they were unsure if he had even noticed their presence at his heel. They probably should have waited a bit before following him. Careless.
“And will you let me join you at last?” they teased once they were well out of earshot of the ongoing gathering. It was remarkably early for either of them to leave, but Raphael had seemed exhausted from the start, and was worse now after the night's indulgences. They hadn't enjoyed the company tonight much either, and could not resist the temptation of following him when he had left.
He looked back at them from the corner of his eye, displeasure slow but clear in it. “Will you finally shut up about it if I do?”
Their brief surprise at the response flashed in their eyes, and they cursed themself for showing it. Then again, Raphael didn't seem attentive enough to have noticed tonight, his frown deepening as they pulled their lips into a grin.
“Maybe I will,” they purred, running their fingers down his spine.
He shook them off with an irritated sigh. “I'm too tired for your company tonight.”
“I'll be very becoming, I promise,” their tone was blatantly insincere, made more so by the batting of their lashes.
Raphael must have been exceptionally tired for he simply turned away from them with a muttered, “Fine.”
They half-expected him to turn them away at the door to his room, but he did not. Their comment on it only got them a look, a tightening of his mouth. Interesting.
They followed him through that door that had been continuously denied to them with a sense of disappointment at how easy he had suddenly yielded.
The humid warmth of the bath distracted them immediately, the sweet-scented steam putting their mind off Raphael for a moment.
The sound of water shifting snapped them out of it again, and they wondered how Raphael had undressed so quietly. He wasn't even looking at them, but seemed to instead be staring vacantly ahead. It was odd to see him so distracted. If anything he had been on more high alert lately.
Part of them wondered if it was so bad that he was starting to infect them with it. It would have been a convenient explanation for their recent tension had it not lasted once they left Raphael’s side.
They sighed. Now was not the time to dwell on their strained mood as of late. Not when the water looked so inviting, the warmth in the room starting to relax their shoulders. Raphael looked to have half-melted into the pool already, eyes closed and lips parted.
The rustling of their undressing did not get Raphael’s attention, nor did he look up when they stepped into the steaming water next to him. Sometimes they were quiet lately. Strange, but not uncomfortable and so they settled against the edge of the pool beside him and closed their eyes with a sigh. It felt divine, water hot but not burning, the scent pleasantly refreshing without being overbearing. It was enough to make them feel just a little jealous. How dare Raphael have constant access to this haven without having to share it? It seemed unfair. Spoiled princess indeed.
“Cat got your tongue, Haarlep?”
Raphael interrupted the silence with a lazy hum, heavily lidded eyes trained on them when they opened theirs.
Haarlep grinned, fingers dancing over his cheek as they brought their face closer, “Why don't you check if you can find it?”
Raphael raised a brow at the suggestion, but when they pressed their parted lips to his he returned readily. They cupped his cheek to deepen the kiss, slid their tongue into his mouth. Raphael hummed, ran his tongue along theirs, breath hitching in his throat when Haarlep’s hand came to rest on his knee. Their thumb followed its curve, claw running through the coarse hairs on his thigh. It felt nearly smooth in the water, and Raphael shivered much as he always did.
They knew his body so well by now, were so familiar with how the curve of his thigh fit into their hand, the way the soft flesh on the inside of it gave under their fingers. The hums and sighs he made against their mouth, the way his arms twitched to reach out for them as he stubbornly refused to give in, keeping them resting on the pool's edge.
It had been instinct to learn it all, but a pleasure to do so for the simple reason that they liked knowing him. They weren't trying to impress him, weren't trying to sell themself to a more promising master. They enjoyed the way Raphael’s lip gave under their teeth, the way it made him gasp in that rough voice of his, loved how his body tensed as their hand slid up his thigh. Raphael's hand came to stop its ascent, head pulling away from the kiss.
“Stop that,” he mumbled, eyes still closed.
They frowned. Raphael had been refusing them entry to his rooms semi-regularly out of spite as of late, but the nights they were admitted never strayed much from their usual. He'd surrender to them, sooner or later, no matter how much he complained before. This was new.
“Did my following you so boldly tonight offend you so much that now you deny me for punishment?”
“This has nothing to do with your insistent lack of decorum as of late, annoying as it is.” With pointed effort, he forced his lids open and looked at them in irritation. “I told you I am weary.”
They waited for more, unsure about what to respond to that. But Raphael only held their gaze, seemingly of the opinion that he had made himself clear.
They guessed he had, in a sense. But still, they were a little confused, and doing a poor job at hiding it below mock-amusement as they said, “So I am to sit here idle and watch over your rest?”
The amusement glinting in Raphael’s eyes was very much real as he deliberately raised an eyebrow, “I don't remember telling you to stop kissing me.”
They laughed, put their hand under his chin to both tip his head back and also pull him a little closer, “The joy with which you set me to dance to your every tune is so very becoming of a pretty little spoiled princess as you are.”
They swallowed his complaints in another kiss, long and deep. By the time they pulled away they seemed to have dissolved. Maybe he was exceptionally tired tonight.
So the night went on, kisses growing more lazy as the hours passed, the occasional taunting comment lost in the gentle noise of the water around them. Raphael relinquished the hand on his thigh eventually and Haarlep ran it up his torso, followed the pattern of wet hairs on it idly. It earned them the occasional pleased noise, and Raphael leaning into them even more.
“Will my weary darling go to bed soon or am I to be your pillow tonight?” Haarlep hummed when minutes had passed without him stirring, a while of them doing at least half the work in keeping him from slipping fully into the pool.
The response was a nondescript sigh, but Haarlep assumed he did not wish to sleep half-submerged and took it as a sign to rise. To their surprise, Raphael went willingly and quietly as they pulled him along. After so long in the water even the steamy air of the room sent a shiver through them. Raphael seemed unbothered as he slowly towelled himself dry.
They followed him to bed wordlessly, sleepy from so long spent soaking and unwilling to break the calm still clinging to them. Neither of them took particularly long to fall asleep once they found their way under the covers, trapping the lingering warmth from the bath below.
The morning did not differ from any other despite their unusually quiet night together. Sleep seemed to have resharpened Raphael’s tongue, and they took their place across from him and grinned as he grumbled.
Chapter Text
The day was warm, birdsong and insect humming filling the flower-scented air of the gardens. The small pavilion they had chosen for their meeting was remote, surrounded by some bigger trees and shrubs that offered shade and privacy without making it impossible to keep an eye on the surroundings. It was one of Raphael’s favourite spots for these kinds of meetings, and the day was perfectly pleasant for it.
Still, he could not help being tense.
“Do you not think it rude not to keep an agreement?” Raphael watched Vys’ face intently as she poured him more tea. Unreadable as always.
He had called this meeting to discuss the peculiar absence of at least two of his informants who had now missed several appointed exchanges and were, as far as he could tell, nowhere to be found. The timing of this stressed him out.
“Rude, perhaps.” She topped up her own cup with tea, took a careful sip before looking at him, “But you should always consider that sometimes there are reasons for such things beyond anyone’s power.”
The implications only stressed him out more. Did she think they had been intercepted? Stayed off in fear of heightened security? Again, he tried to glean anything from her expression. Did she know something or was she speaking generally?
Not for the first time Raphael cursed their inability to speak openly. Neither would risk being heard, no matter how quiet and empty this part of the garden seemed.
“So you suggest I ignore it?” tension was making him sound irritated and he tried to relax his grip on the cup again.
“I suggest you wait. An apology might find you, possibly a wish to reschedule.” She set her cup down slowly, a warning in her eyes when she met his, “Acting rashly in such cases is rarely wise, Raphael. Be patient.”
He knew she wasn't talking about just the topic at hand anymore. He nodded once and drank a sip of tea. Impatience was what had brought everything down last time. He would not repeat his mistake.
“I shall try not to take insult,” he mumbled as he set the cup down, and she nodded, satisfied.
Raphael spent the whole way back to his room deep in thought. Knowing it was wise to wait was not the same as finding solace in doing so. Inactivity only left him irritated and paranoid about timing and he could not quell the anxiety of his mysteriously absent contacts as of late. Did his father know he knew?
The sight of a familiar figure at the door to his rooms as he approached alarmed him. It was too early for one of Haarlep’s intrusions. Bold as they were in disturbing him as he went about his days at court, they had never come to his door before the fall of night before. Something was wrong.
They turned around at the sound of his steps, innocent confusion quickly turning into mischievous delight on their face as they saw who was approaching. Raphael only raised a brow as he came to a stop before them.
After a moment of them waiting for him to speak, they sighed into the heavy silence, “Won't you ask me to come in? I promise I won't take too much of your time, I have places to be.”
He crossed his arms in front of his chest, eyes narrowing. “What do you want?”
“I bear a gift. Now that it's finally finished I couldn't wait to give it to you.” They raised their hand, long fingers wrapped delicately around some rolled up paper.
Curiosity and distrust were clear in his face as Raphael took in the paper. It was too big for a letter, a worded threat. Besides, it was very rare for Mephistopheles to get so direct in this game. He looked up at their face, trying to find his answers in those distractingly pretty features.
Haarlep heaved a sigh. “Unless you are susceptible to death by papercut, princeling, I assure you accepting the gift — or even just looking at it — shan't harm you. So, will you let me in for a moment?”
Irritated at their correct assessment of his silence, and curious still, Raphael nodded, but made sure to show his displeasure at the untimely intrusion as he opened the door for them both. They winked at him while walking into the room, and Raphael closed the door with a sigh.
“So?” He said, turning around to face them. He nodded at the paper in their hands, “What is it?”
They rolled their eyes, the smile they gave him nearly wry. “Very well,” with flourish, and a slight bow, they presented him with their hand's content. For a moment, Raphael got distracted taking in their perfect dark-painted claws, pondering the way they'd feel against his skin now. They'd make him forget his concerns, if only for a moment.
Haarlep cleared his throat, and Raphael blinked his visions of pleasure away, met their too-knowing, amused expression with a sour look. He just wanted to be alone.
He took the paper with some irritation, unrolled it without ceremony. The quicker he'd be done here the faster he could go about his actual day without annoying disturbances.
What he found within made him slow down in surprise. He had expected some kind of mockery — what else could it be that put such a grin on Haarlep’s lips? — but what he found instead was his own likeness. Half-tangled in his bedsheets, his eyes closed in repose. The black and white image looked startlingly lifelike, if not particularly elegant with his limbs akimbo and torso half-twisted to the viewer, face calm in sleep despite the mouth open wide enough to show his fangs.
“I do not look like that!” he did his best to glare even as he found himself appreciating how touchable his skin looked in the drawing. “Who drew this?”
Haarlep seemed entirely unbothered, grin light as ever as they answered. “You only say that because you've never seen your pretty brow unfurrowed.” They crossed their arms in front of their chest and added with great pleasure, “The artist was me. So if you have any criticisms, I am all ears.”
Raphael failed to hide his surprise, “I didn't know about your artistic inclinations.”
For some reason, they laughed. “My darling princess, there is so much you do not know about me.” They reached out to him, running those lovely claws over his jaw. Raphael fought the shudder running through him at it. “Did you think my sole talent is making you whimper in pleasure? I guess you've never shown interest in finding out more.”
“That is untrue—”
“Your hallucinations ignored, I mean.” They underlined their irritated retort with a roll of their eyes, hand disappearing from his face.
Raphael stared at them, angry at their stubborn implication that Mephistopheles being their master had nothing to do with their constant insistence on being in his space, and also suddenly hit with the realisation that he did know nothing about them. Their conversations had always danced around anything particularly personal, and really, what did it matter anyway? He knew enough. Knowing what someone wanted was all one needed to know to use them.
“What am I to do with this?” He asked, refusing to look away from their eyes to grace the sketch with a further glance.
“It's a gift, Raphael. Do as you please.” They weren't entirely succeeding in hiding their disappointment. It gave him great pleasure that their grin seemed so strained as they leaned in to speak, “I simply thought it lacking that one as enamoured with his own reflection as you are did not have his likeness hanging from any of the walls he inhabits.” They sighed, shook their head. “Besides, I get dreadfully bored when you fall asleep immediately, and your sleeping positions are deeply intriguing to study.”
Raphael kept his voice even, “Are you done mocking me?”
“Only upon my death, pretty.” They winked, drew just a little closer. “Won't I even get a kiss from my muse for my troubles?”
“Go away. I thought you had places to be.” He motioned to the door with the paper. “I certainly have.”
Haarlep held his gaze for a moment longer, and Raphael could not fathom what the expression in their eyes was. Annoyance, disappointment, sure, but there was something else.
Before he could put his finger on it they turned around wordlessly, and made for the door.
*
They didn't want to go to their next engagement. Raphael's reaction to the gift, expected as it had been, had left them annoyed.
They shook their head at the mirror. Nothing about the transaction had surprised them. It had been marvellous even to watch Raphael fight to hide his appreciation under his usual irritation. It had all gone as planned.
And yet they couldn't deny that their amusement watching him had faltered quickly. By the time they had closed the door behind them none of it had been left. They had felt…hurt.
Ridiculous. To get what had been expected and still feel disappointed in a way they couldn't quite explain was ridiculous.
Their hands fell back to their sides as they took in their reflection, the shadow of their foul mood across their face. Hair freshly brushed, the front part of it twisted back, the gleaming purple gems twinkling in the golden rings wrapped around their horns, none of it was distracting from their frown. Damn him for spoiling something by doing exactly as expected.
Closing their eyes, they took a breath. They did not want to go, but wallowing in their discontent would be a waste of time. Besides, Lythil had sent them a note asking for their presence. She had not been there the last two times they had come to call on her, so it had been a while. The thought of sitting in her presence again comforted them.
This time, they swallowed the bitterness at that realisation, and when they opened their eyes again an easy smile was on their reflection’s lips. It was time to leave before their mood caught up with them again.
Lythil seemed troubled. Despite her invitation, she sat near-silent, thoughtful. Her companion seemed unconcerned as she absently chewed her lip to their questions, suggesting this was probably not new.
They frowned. They hadn't been gone that long, had they? What had they missed?
“My lady?” They repeated after she had ignored their initial question. She blinked, looked at the teapot they were holding up at her with a brow raised in question. “More tea?”
“Oh! Yes, of course,” she said, raising her cup with a thin smile.
They watched her face while pouring. She looked tired. Why did everyone seem to look so exhausted lately? Even their own reflection had seemed weary this morning.
“Are you alright?”
It was none of their business anymore. They shouldn't care. Still, they could not help the question slipping over their lips. It earned them a raised brow from her pet.
“It's just been a lot lately. Things aren't going as usual, orders keep getting delayed…” She sighed, played with her cup, eyes on the tea within. “Some of the newer patrons are getting impatient, the agreement that was so close to being signed fell through again due to it.”
They refilled her pet's cup and their own, brows furrowed. Her business had always had ups and downs, but Lythil had never been one for catastrophizing. “So much worse than usual?”
She shrugged, but did not answer. “What about you? You look tired.”
“It has been busy for me, too. But I'm well, thank you.” They took a long sip, watched her do the same. There was something she wasn't saying.
“It has been a bit chaotic everywhere,” It was his smooth, pleasant voice that picked up the conversation, led it back to the casual chatter on this and that. They threw him a glance, but his eyes were focused on Lythil. So they decided to follow his lead.
Talk had just begun to flow easily again — some kind of discussion of a traders’ party they had missed — when one of Lythil's servants approached their table, “A message, my lady.” She held out the sealed note in her hand, “My apologies on the intrusion, but I was told it is of utmost urgency and not to be delayed.”
A brief glance at the unopened letter had Lythil on her feet, the tension that had started to bleed out of her during their lighter talk back in an instant. “I need to go.”
Her pet frowned, moved to rise, “My lady?”
“Stay, please.” She gave him a tight smile. “I won’t be long. I’d like for you to keep our guest entertained.” Turning her eyes to them, her smile turned apologetic, “I apologise for my rude departure after you went out of your way to visit me. Please, make yourself at home and wait for my return.”
They raised a brow at the not-so-subtle order in that sentence, but she had already turned her back, quick steps taking her to the door and out of the room. Confused silence was left in her wake, and they did not need to look across the table at her pet to know he was staring at the door that had just closed, too.
“Any idea what that was about?” they asked anyway.
He shook his head with a sigh. “Not a clue. She has not shared much detail on what has been keeping her so busy.”
Turning to face him, they tried to remember a time Lythil had left any sort of engagement like this while they had been in her service. They could not remember a single one. “You think this was business related?”
He shrugged, met their eyes, “Most things are.”
Silence settled between them again, not entirely comfortable, but not unbearable either. They sipped their tea, eyes on Lythil’s half-full cup. Where did she go? And more importantly, why was she so insistent they wait until she was back?
She wanted to tell them something, that much was clear. But about what? They tried to remember anything she might have alluded to in their last meetings and came up blank, tried to ponder if anything she had said today might give a clue. She had said little. Something was off.
“Would you like to retire to my room?” he eventually asked, breaking the silence. “I started working on a new painting yesterday. I would like to show you.”
They set their cup down and met his eyes with a smile, “I would love to see.”
He returned the smile and stood, holding out a hand for them. They accepted with a slight grin and let him lead the way to the room they had called theirs not too long ago.
It looked different, emptied of their possessions, some of the furniture rearranged, and yet they could not help thinking of it as home in some far corner of their mind. Ridiculous how hard they had tried to escape for this to still keep happening.
He led them to the area by the window where the easel stood, and pointed at the canvas sitting on it. It was little more than a sketch now, the colouring evidently started, but not before being interrupted.
The motif looked familiar, and after pondering it quietly for a moment, they exclaimed, “It's the gardens!”
He smiled. “It is. I felt like trying something different.” With a shrug, he added, “I confess it was refreshing to not have to worry about it sitting still.”
They laughed, leaned in a bit closer to take in the finer lines, the careful first layer of colour in some spots. It would look gorgeous once finished. “I like your attention to detail in the sketch.”
“With everything being still, I had a hard time calling it done. Every time I'd look up I'd find something new to add.”
They hummed in understanding. “Do you want to continue working on it now? It looks like you were interrupted starting with the colours.”
“I was, but it will wait. Please, sit.” He motioned to the couch in the corner.
“If we are going to sit, why don't you sit down at the easel? I promise I don't mind, and I know how annoying it can be to be forced to stop so early on.” They smiled, “I’d love to watch.”
There was surprise in his eyes, a brief silence as he tried to decide whether they were being honest. A smile and a nod. “Very well.” They pointed to the chair right by the window. “Please.”
They got comfortable in their respective chairs, conversation idle once he picked up the brush. They let him lead it for the most part, mind still not entirely in the present, wondering about Lythil's strange behaviour. Wondering about their own dark mood taking over once more. It had not seemed a bad day this morning. How wrong they had been.
Still, they could not deny their interest in talking to Lythil’s pet. They had spent most of their time among those fortunate to have been born knowing their name since arriving at court, their Nameless companions often present, but usually quiet. What they knew about the Nameless born and raised at court was mostly from observation and hearsay. It was fascinating to let him speak and try to imagine what sort of life he had led, more interesting still to ask one curious question or another and allow him to respond to whatever extent he wished to do so.
It was a comfortable life here, even for their kin, it seemed. There was no talk of hunger or hard labour, of punishment. Their roundabout inquiry on possible mistreatment by a master — a Named one in general — had him pause, paintbrush hovering over the bench he was filling in. The question went unanswered, deflected skillfully in that sweet voice of his. It’s what they had expected. A bad master could be found anywhere. The fact that an answer had been refused told them that it was not expected here, not the usual, which was more than they could say about most of the places they had spent their youth in.
The longer they talked — or listened to him talk, rather — the more they found themself wondering how things could have been so very different had they been born here, grown up in comfort, if not freedom. Would latter still be appealing in such a case? Lythil’s pet certainly did not seem like it ever occurred to him. He sounded satisfied, maybe even happy with what he had, and none of their gentle, indirect questions about whether he wanted more had any effect on him but mild confusion.
Would they be the same if their background were like his? They pondered. For two centuries and then some they had been basically living some version of this life he felt so comfortable in. Still, their urge to be free had never left them. Despite knowing that the level of comfort they currently enjoyed was far from secure once they had a name, they still yearned for it. The difference was too great in their eyes, and they would much rather be in charge of their own life than be quietly comfortable but dependent. What they wished for was what those nobles had they kept dancing with, a combination of both. And they would have it, somehow. But first, they needed their name.
Conversation slowed and died down as both got lost to their thoughts, him focusing on his painting — it was coming along beautifully, and even lost in thought they found great pleasure and calm in watching him work — and them letting their mind wander through all they had heard and learned today, through dreams out of reach and things to distract from such frustrating thoughts.
“You said you were born here?” they eventually asked, unable to not indulge a curiosity that had been nagging them in the back of their mind ever since he had said something along those lines. Besides, their mood was getting darker again with too much contemplation, and talking would hopefully keep things at bay.
He hummed assent. They gently knocked their claw against the glass of wine he had given them a while back, just hard enough for the noise to properly get his attention before they continued, “I have heard some rumours about the bastard prince’s past…”
He didn’t look up from the canvas as he answered, “Are you still trying your luck with him? I told you he has never had any Nameless in his service.”
“I have no interest in a new master. I just find him…curious.” They sipped their wine, considering their words for a moment. “He is strangely open about his…unfavourable opinion of the duke, and yet he walks freely and, dare I say, fearlessly in even the highest circles.” Was that already too much? Difficult to tell. They bit their lip. “Has it always been this way?”
This time, he did look up. Daylight was all but gone by now, so his face had been very close to the canvas before he turned it towards them. “How are you so sure I would know anything about that?”
They shrugged. “I’m not! That’s why I’m asking.” A grin pulled at their lips. “Despite him doing his very best to make the frown wrinkling his forehead a permanent resident there, you two must be around the same age.” With a chuckle, they set the glass back down, crossed their legs. “I was wondering if you remember anything, any gossip, something those keen eyes of yours may have seen.”
A moment passed in silence as he took them in. “Why?”
“I told you. I’m curious.” Another shrug. “He is strangely private for how social he acts. Nearly everybody has something to say about him, but it is always a trivial comment on his distinguished speech or his skill at the piano or something like that. It’s interesting that nobody seems to know anything about him.”
He sat back in his chair. “I would assume it is that way because he wishes it to be so.”
They chuckled. He wasn’t wrong, but they cared little for what Raphael wanted right now. Besides, he had all but insisted they found out themself. “And you feel obligated to protect his privacy?”
“There is not much I can tell you, you know?” He got to his feet and walked towards them, poured some wine into the second glass on the table he had abandoned in favour of painting earlier. “I never knew him.” He leaned against the wall right by their chair, swirled the glass gently. “I have been mostly aware of his presence, heard the talk. Much like you have.”
“Nothing?” They frowned, looked up at him. “No juicy gossip from his youth or anything to explain his…opinion of his father?”
“As far as I know, their…relationship has always been tense, if you believe hearsay.”
He brought his wine to his lips, and they sighed, disappointed. It had been worth a try. Maybe they should consider doing as Raphael had mocked and simply asking Mephistopheles himself what his son had been referring to when they asked about the portrait. The very thought nearly made them laugh. They would not dare waste their master’s time with his son’s childish games.
“He did…disappear for a while,” he mumbled after a moment of silence, voice uncertain, as if unsure of the memory.
They blinked at him. “Disappear?”
“There was a lot else happening then. I think it was the first time the enemy gained some territory in a millennia…” He licked the wine off his lips, set the glass down again. “It got quite chaotic here, with all those coming to appeal for one thing or another, others setting out…” He met their eyes and shrugged. “Amongst it all, the duke’s son disappeared.”
“What do you mean, he disappeared?”
“It isn't uncommon for people to disappear at court.” There was a warning in his blue eyes, his tone careful, as if he did not dare say too much. “Some come back, some do not. I think it was only worth mentioning because, well…you asked about anything .”
They did not understand. People at court disappeared? How had they never heard of it? “But where did he go?”
He sighed, crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Nobody knows, and you’d be wise not to inquire into the duke’s business.”
“The duke’s—” He shook his head, and they stopped themself.
The duke’s business? Did he just imply the duke was making people at court disappear? They could tell by the look on his face that the topic was making him severely uncomfortable and that he would not answer any further questions about it.
“When did he come back?” they tried, believing that the discomfort lay in discussing the actual disappearance, not the aftermath.
He gave an exhausted sigh, but did relax a little. “I’m not sure. There were more pressing matters then, but eventually rumours of his return started circulating.”
“Rumours? You didn’t see him?”
“I barely saw him in general. Still rarely do.” He gave him a little smile, fondly tired of repeating himself on this. “But he clearly returned.”
They sat with this for a moment, trying to wrap their mind around it all. How long had Raphael been absent? Is this what he had alluded to that morning? But what had even happened? None of it was making any sense. He was here, and he was fine and lacked not in luxury and comfort. Had it been different before?
“Was he…changed, in some way?”
A million other questions about it all burned on their tongue, but they knew he was not likely to answer them. This one seemed the most harmless of them all.
“I didn’t know him before or after.” He said again, patiently. “There was talk, if I remember correctly, of him spending more time at the training grounds.” A shrug. “Though I think I heard some arguing he always had.”
“The training grounds?” They thought about the many times Raphael’s strength had surprised them, of instances spent wondering idly at the firm muscle they’d feel beneath soft flesh, how rough his fingers felt. They guessed it couldn't have been from holding a pen at one of his many writing desks. “That explains some things…” They mumbled to themself, but he clearly heard them loud and clear, raising a brow in question. Shaking their head, they waved it away with a smile. “Thank you for indulging me.”
“You’re welcome,” he hummed, returned the smile. Still, the echo of warning was clear in his eyes. It seemed they had been a little too curious today, and should probably not pursue this line of question with someone else.
When they interrupted the quiet that had settled between them, it was with a peace offering — a change of topic, “Where do you think she went? It’s dark.”
“I do not know,” he sighed, bit his lip. “She has been gone until late often lately. That’s why she is so tired.”
They frowned. “And she doesn’t tell you?”
“Only that it’s business. There seems to be a lot of problems with supply lately, not just for her…”
Silence again. They felt like they would be leaving with more questions than answers tonight.
“Do you think I could—”
The door to the room opened suddenly, startling them both. Lythil slipped through the door, closed it behind her and leaned against it. They had long given up requesting she at least knock before entering when they still lived with her, and it seemed he hadn't changed this particular habit of hers in their absence.
“Forgive my tardiness. It took longer than expected,” she sighed, gave them both a tight smile when she looked up. “Thank you for waiting.”
They decided not to mention that they had been considering leaving. “What happened?”
She shook her head. “Won't you stay the night?”
It was less of a question and more akin to a plea. They froze, giving her a disbelieving look. She couldn't be serious.
And yet they knew she was. They looked up at where her pet still stood next to them. He caught their gaze with a curious one of his own. Pondering their options, they looked back at her. They could decline and leave, there was nothing binding them to her will anymore. But then they would not hear whatever it was she wanted to tell them. Not tonight, at least. She was much too wound-up for that.
And they wanted to know .
They got to their feet with a nod, “If you wish.”
“I do,” she said, relieved, and straightened up from the door she was leaning against. She walked towards them.
“Shall I leave, my lady?” Her pet asked when she came to a stop in front of them both.
She gave him a small grin, held out her hand to him. “No.”
He raised a brow, but accepted, let her pull him closer. They took her other hand, and leaned in for a kiss.
Quiet settled slowly as they caught their breaths amidst the tangled sheets. Lythil lay between them on her back, tresses half-undone and spread over the pillow that should have been theirs. Satisfied, exhausted, but still that troubled expression was in her eyes.
They waited, knowing she was more likely to speak unprompted. Her pet's head was leaning against her shoulder, but his eyes, too, were open and expectant. They had to grin at how well he knew her.
Eventually, she sighed, closed her eyes. “Message came from yet another supplier that he will not be able to deliver for the foreseeable future.”
“Why?” Her pet mumbled, unsurprised. It wasn't the first case he had heard of, then.
“He didn’t say.” She opened her eyes but kept them on the ceiling. “It was luck to get this warning at all, many have just gone silent as of late.”
He nodded, but they frowned, propped themself up on one elbow. They had not heard of this. “Silent?”
She turned to them, concern in her face, “We cannot reach them. Messengers have been lost, presumably on both sides.” A heavy pause left them wondering just how long she had been dealing with this. “The situation is getting dire. We are thinking of bringing it to the duke.”
There was an obvious question in her statement, one they knew to be meant for them. They refused to answer — raised a brow in warning — and pressed on, “You’re not telling everything. What is going on?”
She looked away, “We don’t know.”
“But…?”
Another deep sigh left her lips, her hand coming to play with her pet’s hair. They could not tell if she was trying to distract them or herself. “But it seems to not be the first time things have gotten like this. Some of the other traders remember such a thing happening before.” Her voice had dropped to a careful whisper despite them being alone. “Back when the warfronts shifted, and much of the trade routes were lost.”
That was it. That was what she had meant to tell them. They stared blankly, trying to process her words. She was looking at them again, and they were not unaware of the unspoken question in her eyes again. Do you know anything? They would not answer. Not that their response would impress her much because they did not know anything.
It would explain the subtle changes in their orders, though.
“So what you are saying is the traders here believe this is happening again?” they said each word carefully, slowly.
“It is our best guess.” There it was, that pleading look again. “You…have not heard anything, have you?”
“No.”
Lythil didn't believe them. “Well…we will have to address this problem, and do so soon.”
They nodded, settled back down. Ideally, they'd get up immediately to report. Were it only her they may have done it, but her pet, as far as they knew, did not know who they served. They'd like to keep it so for a little longer.
“Rest now,” they mumbled and pressed a kiss to her hair. “The both of you,” they added with a squeeze to her pet's hand that was resting on her ribs. His response was soft enough to be incomprehensible.
They waited anxiously for both of them to fall asleep before slipping out of bed. Soundlessly, they put on their clothes, and without a glance back, slipped out of the room. They had not forgotten the best ways to get out of the house unseen, and made sure to leave by one of the routes least likely to get them spotted.
Once outside, they walked fast. There was a briskness to the air that did wonders to shake off their sleepiness, and by the time they reached the main building they were wide awake. Instructions had been clear on when they ought to report outside of the set appointments, and hearing that a good part of the court was convinced the war had turned was definitely among those emergencies that excused their intrusion.
They were made to wait as always at the door and there was nothing different in the tone of the servant who promised to notify the duke. They assumed that was a good thing.
It was late, later even than they had thought, and suddenly they found themself wondering if they shouldn't have waited for tomorrow morning. No restrictions had been given to their duty to report anything important. They hoped their master deemed what they had to tell of enough relevance to excuse the hour.
Finally, they were led inside. The apology about the late hour died on their tongue as they raised their eyes to Mephistopheles, looking exactly as he always did, as if he had been awaiting one of their usual reports. There was no sign of a possible interruption of rest, his eyes as unsettlingly sharp as ever, his clothes the usual mixture of elegance and opulence. In a brief moment of confusion, they wondered if the duke never slept.
The drawn-out heavy silence as the duke held their gaze, expectant, finally made them snap out of the shock of the unexpected, and bow low, hoping it would count as the unspoken apology, too.
“Your Grace,” they said once they had risen again.
Their voice was steady despite how nervous they were. They couldn’t even tell if the excitement they were feeling was from the information they had heard or whether it was the usual anxiety that tried to choke them the moment they set foot into this room and found themself under Mephistopheles impassive gaze. It was probably both.
“I came as soon as I could. I heard news of importance to you.”
Confidence. They had a lifetime of practice at pretending to be confident. They held their master’s eye in what they hoped would go for boldness, and waited respectfully for any kind of reaction.
Nothing about his expression betrayed even the mildest curiosity, and all they got was a near-dismissive wave of his hand as a sign to continue. They pressed their lips into a thin line, trying to ignore how their resolve, strong enough to bring them here in the middle of the night mere moments ago, was starting to waver.
“The resident traders at court seem to have come to the conclusion that the only explanation for their ongoing struggles of getting their usual supplies is that the warfronts have shifted to our disadvantage.”
They forced themself not to rush through the sentence, to speak clearly and confidently, wishing it to have the desired effect. Still, they watched the duke’s face for any reaction as they spoke. Still, their keen eyes caught not a twitch. Despair was trying to claw its way out of whichever dark hole in their mind they kept pushing it into.
Mephistopheles’ eyes eventually narrowed, just slightly. “Where have you heard this?”
They disliked how much it sounded like he was implying they had come with some unchecked rumour. Standing up straighter, they said, “From one of the traders herself. It was decided today that the issue will be brought before you soon.”
“Is that so?” He said after a too-long silence of his eyes boring into them. They gave one confident nod. He leaned back in his chair and pondered.
“Very well then,” he said after a moment. “I will take care of it.”
His tone was as flat as ever, but they could not help the overwhelming wave of relief that hit them at those words. It was the closest thing to praise they had ever gotten in this room, the first time they felt like what they had said was actually what Mephistopheles wanted to hear. Like they were getting somewhere with this situation. Like they might be getting closer to their freedom.
“Your Grace,” they said, and regretted immediately having spoken without being told to. But it was too late to go back, Mephistopheles had heard them. And while they had his attention, they may as well try, “About my name—”
The question got stopped by a cry, a sudden and strangled noise of pain escaping their lips as something set their face ablaze, a loud crack leaving them disoriented as they instinctively pressed their hand to their cheek. They could not remember falling, yet they were on their knees. Their hand was wet.
“You speak when told to do so. And as you willingly agreed to with the signing of the contract, the conclusion of it is my concern, not yours. You have no right to inquire about our terms and I have no obligation to tell you how far or close you are to getting what you want.” He did not speak loudly, but his tone had grown hard and cold. “I will tell you that disobedience has never made me grant anyone's wish faster, and you would do well in remembering that.”
The words cut right through the rush of blood in their ears, and when they blinked the room back into focus they realised there were tears in their eyes. Through them, they saw the tip of the whip usually coiled at their master’s hip, staining the floor in front of them red. They pulled their hand away from their stinging cheek, looked down at the blood on their palm in numb disbelief.
In the corner of their eye, the whip suddenly twitched, and they instinctively tried to jump back, stumbled. It disappeared from their view, and they could not help but look up for fear of not seeing it coming again. Mephistopheles was rolling it up, hard orange eyes still trained coldly on them.
“Leave,” he said.
They did not need to be told twice. Despite nearly falling over twice as they tried scrambling to their feet, despite the shaking and nausea, they ran from the room as fast as they could.
*
Raphael ignored the knocking. It could only be one person this late in the night, and he had had enough of Haarlep today. Even for them it was unreasonably late. They were getting far too bold for his liking.
The knocking did not come again — not that Raphael was listening for it where he sat in front of the fire with a book he had been itching to finally pick up — but he thought he heard something else. Some kind of noise that convinced him they had not left, even if they weren’t insisting with their knocking.
Somehow the idea of them standing by his door in silence, possibly trying to listen in on him annoyed him even more than the late visit. Trying to ignore the feeling only made it impossible to focus on his reading. Had there been another noise?
Raphael rose with a sigh and walked to the door, pulling it open with a dismissal on the tip of his tongue that died there when Haarlep jumped at the noise, eyes big and filled with terror as they looked at him. Raphael first noticed the blood, smeared at the edges of the hand they had pressed against the right side of their face. Next he noticed the tears.
“What happened?” He demanded, and knew the response instinctively.
The way Haarlep averted their eyes, lowered their face in what looked like shame was all it took for him to know he was right. Had been right from the start. And now they knew, too.
Neither of them spoke a word. Why are you here , Raphael itched to ask, but did not dare, knowing it’d come out an accusation, knowing they’d hear the anger. They were sobbing again. He recognised the quiet noise as what he had heard earlier.
With a sigh, and a touch that could have been more gentle, he pulled them inside and closed the door. There was no point in standing around until somebody else might notice them.
He sat them down on the couch, where the light from the fire would assist in assessing the damage. “Remove the hand.” Raphael spoke quietly, voice neutral. After a moment’s hesitation, they did as told. “Don’t touch the couch with that,” he warned, unable to hide his irritation. They looked numb to it.
He was gentle. His hand careful as it turned their face towards the light even as they twitched back. The bleeding seemed to have mostly stopped, the wound was not too deep, as far as he could tell through the mess they had made of it by pressing their hand into the blood. He shook his head with a sigh and motioned them to wait as he went to get some water.
He returned to them still sitting in the same position he left them in, shoulders slumped, trembling hands in their lap, eyes wide, but empty aside from the occasionally escaping tear down their bloodied face. As Raphael began to clean the blood off he found himself wondering about the strangely messy state of their hair. They weren’t stupid enough to have put up a fight, surely, or they would look much worse.
He shook his head, and worked quietly. He could tell that they were fighting their own sobs the longer it took, but he could not rush without it hurting more. Why he cared he could not tell.
Once done with their face — the long, thin cut down their cheek did get quite deep at their jaw, but even there the bleeding had ceased — he got clean water so they could wash the blood off their hand. He did not offer to do it for them, assuming they might be grateful for the opportunity at distraction.
They took too long. Slowly, they washed the blood off, but the sobs they had been biting back were starting to shake them. He wondered what exactly was going through their head, and could not help the satisfaction in knowing that they must have realised tonight that Raphael had been right. Their hopes of freedom would never be fulfilled.
That he understood, and so did he understand the anger he dared not call by its real name. Neither of those things were what made him carefully put an arm around their shoulder. The first sob ripped from their throat at the touch, and then they could not hold their wailing in anymore. Their hands clutched at the robe covering his chest as they pressed their face into it, tears flowing freely as they sobbed. He bit back a comment on how they would make the cut bleed again if they pushed their face so insistently into him and sat down next to them, wrapping both arms around them. It only made them curl further into him, until they were mostly in his lap, shaking and crying and Raphael did not know what to do. He held them, awkwardly stroked their hair in the hopes of it doing something. Part of him wished he had words to soothe. It felt wrong to be wordless, but he could feel that everything burning on his tongue, itching to be said, would only add to the hurt. So he kept silent as his robe grew wet with their tears, and held them.
Chapter Text
They slipped in and out of consciousness for a long time before it finally stuck. The awkward position they seemed to be in helped resisting the persistent call of slumber, especially since no amount of shifting was making it any better. So they relented, and forced their eyes open.
A split second of confusion at the sight of the familiar yet unexpected ceiling was crushed by the sudden realisation, the recollection of last night's events hitting them like a flood. They sat up too fast, groaned at how sore they felt. Their hand flew to their jaw and they winced, fingers coming away wet.
It was not blood. From the smell of it, it was some sort of salve. Had Raphael—
They sat up straight, looked around. The silence suggested he was not in, which was a relief. Of all the times they had come here to forget their master, last night had been the stupidest. What were they thinking? To come knock at the door of the one person who’d feel triumph at their tears?
Yet, he hadn’t sent them away. They shook their head, not wanting to ponder what it all meant. Not now. They had cried the night away already, it was time to save the little dignity they still had left and get on with the day. What happened had happened, and they had allowed themself to despair about it too much already if it had brought them here.
They were a little shaky on their legs when getting up, throat parched. Looking over to the table, they found it set for breakfast still, Raphael’s side abandoned with only a couple of crumbs on his plate. Maybe he had left in a hurry.
Lingering was not on their mind — dried tears made their face sticky, and they did not want to be here should their host return — but they poured themself a cup of lukewarm tea and grabbed an orange on their way to the door. Raphael always had the most delicious fruit at his breakfasts.
They hurried to their room after, taking care to not be seen. It was late morning, so most were either still engaged in breakfast or already at whatever had called them from bed early in the morning.
It was a great relief to be back in their apartment, and once again they wondered why they had not come here last night. It was Mephistopheles’ room , a voice somewhere in the back of their mind pointed out. And Mephistopheles’ son had been a better choice? They shook their head and made for the closest mirror.
As they took in the damage, they tried not to think of how it had happened. It was still a shock to see it, the long red line down their cheek, the way the wound was deepest at the curve of their jaw. It had happened so fast. The shock at the suddenness had brought them to their knees rather than the pain.
The suddenness and the fact that he had gone for their face. Few dared damage a face that might sell for a good price, if they had no more use for it themselves. Not permanently, at least. Bruises faded and usually still got the message across.
There was no master after the duke, so they guessed he did not have to worry about such things. Carefully, their finger followed the cut. They would be his until he set them free.
A quiver of their lip and they pressed their mouth shut tight to stop it. They would be free. They had overstepped, had displeased Mephistopheles, but none of what he had said, none of his threats, had negated that. It would be a matter of patience but they would be free.
This was where they tried to keep their thoughts as they moved to wash. It was impossible. Even as they undressed, they caught their hands trembling. It wasn't fear of pain. As much as it had surprised them, they were no stranger to this, no matter how long they had gone without having to endure volatile and violent masters.
But this was worse. It was that first seed of doubt Raphael had sown, stirred with last night's abuse. They had known of course that they were completely at Mephistopheles’ mercy much as they had been at any other master’s before. Even moreso, maybe, as pleasing him would be their only escape. But last night had been such a stark reminder and Raphael’s comment about how he'd never grant them their name kept returning. What could they do about it if just asking had already ended like this? How much more time had they added to their service to the duke just by daring to pose that question? Would they still—
Yes . Yes they would. They'd be free. No matter what.
Stubbornly they focused on washing up. What did Raphael know? How dare he speak of what he didn't know? How dare they listen? They hated him for having put the idea in their head. They hated him for opening that door last night. Had their humiliation not been complete before he had been there to witness their breakdown? Tears pricked their eyes. They thought it was anger. At Raphael? At themself.
With an irritated sigh, they poured more water over their head. They needed to get a grip.
They were brushing their hair when the knock came. Immediately, their whole body tensed again. The calm the familiar motions had put them in had only been superficial.
Cautiously, they approached the door. The knocking came again, more insistently. They balled their hands into fists. So much for safety. So much for their space.
No. They had to stay calm. Their voice was cool as they asked, “Yes?”
To their confusion, they did not recognise the voice that responded, “All are to gather in the Grand Hall now. Duke’s orders.”
They heard the retreating steps after the message was delivered and felt more confused still. The Grand Hall? Mephistopheles had said something about taking care of the traders’ suspicions, but they had no idea what that might entail.
The last thing they wanted to do was go out into a crowd right now, much less a crowd their master had called. They knew they would have to face him again, but they had hoped for a little bit of time to prepare themself to bear the shame of being in his presence after last night’s misstep.
And then there was, of course, the wound. They had been staring at it while tidying up their hair trying to find a believable story to explain the strangely straight cut on their face away and had yet to come up with something. It was still too red, too fresh to look like anything it was not, and its placement made it impossible for them to excuse it. Or maybe their mind was simply too hazy from everything to think clearly.
They held their reflection’s eyes and changed their shape. It felt good to shed their own body right now, to no longer have their eyes drawn to the red stripe on their face. There was nothing to look at in this shape, only smooth, red skin. They had always enjoyed this form for staying unnoticed, had found its shape and features to be unremarkable enough to rarely draw any unwanted attention. Right now, that was what they wanted.
Dressing was quick, they did not wish to be late and going with their usual extravagance would inevitably draw eyes. Part of them was disappointed that they could not play with that. They had always loved making even the blandest shape one nobody’s eyes could stray from.
They sighed, rolling their shoulders. They were still too tense, still felt sore from their strange sleeping position. A soak might help, but they would have to be very careful if they were to be seen like this in more enclosed spaces. They'd need a good cover story, and the energy to commit to the acting required to make it believable. At the same time, they couldn't afford anyone getting too curious about the stranger in the bath. It was a fine line to walk.
All of that was still on their mind as they made for the Grand Hall, and they did not try to stop thinking of such hypotheticals. The longer they could keep themself occupied with things like this the better. It kept their thoughts from wandering.
The hall was already full when they arrived, and they merged with the mass effortlessly. They did not avoid anyone per se, that would have been rather obvious, but kept quietly on the edge of bigger groups engaged in talk, not really participating in any discussion but offering the occasional nod in case any onlookers might see them. Very little was understandable of the loud chatting around them, especially as they struggled focusing, but from what they could gather nobody seemed entirely sure what this meeting was about.
All it took to bring the whispering, chatting crowd to silence was Mephistopheles himself standing up from his throne. They could nearly taste the unease, the fear the sight seemed to spread. They guessed the regular announcements were not made by him personally, but probably read by someone else while he sat and watched. The bejeweled crown on his head shone brightly in the light streaming in through the windows. It occurred to them suddenly that he never wore it when they came to report.
“I have called you here today with unfortunate news.”
They froze at the deliberate choice of words, the careful delivery, backed with what seemed just the right amount of regret without losing any authority. Startled, they realised this was the first time they had seen him speak to a crowd.
It was a very different experience from the flatness of his every word when they were alone with him. It reminded them so strongly, so suddenly of watching Raphael at gatherings, effortlessly and easily knowing just how to keep his audience engaged without ever overdoing it. Raphael always had a subtle authority to his otherwise easy charm that tricked one into paying attention whether the topic interested or not. His father was a lot less subtle, and they did not think anyone listening had any doubt about doing so due to the speaker’s power over them. Still, the effect was deceptively similar.
Tearing their eyes away from him to look at the audience proved them right in their assessment. His vague allusions to what the core of this announcement was had only made everyone utterly enraptured with his words, many looking like they seemed to already be guessing where this was going but were desperate to have certainty. As if the issue would only turn real once the duke put words to it.
They caught sight of Raphael in their idle watching. He was standing quite far off, next to the tall woman they had seen him with in the gardens once. Neither of their expressions matched the rest of the audience’s. She looked grim, but utterly unsurprised while he looked equally as unsurprised, but also angry, his jaw tense, his whole body like a wound-up spring.
As the duke declared the territory loss at the southern warfront, the listeners grew more restless. Puzzlingly, they caught Raphael direct his fury-filled eyes to her. She seemed utterly unmoved by him or the disquiet around them.
“Attention!” It was not a request, but an order, and they could not help but flinch at the familiarity of the tone. It still rang somewhere in their ears, telling them to leave a room they were no longer standing in. “Panic will not be of any use these coming weeks. It was a minimal loss, but it cut off some well-used trading routes.” A pause, one demanding to cease even the last of the restless whispering. Only when total quiet fell did he go on, “Alternatives will have to be found while we work to gain back what was lost. This is not the first time we suffer such a setback, and as before, it will be temporary. I expect everyone to keep this in mind, and act accordingly as the inevitable influx of outsiders come here for help.” Another long, meaningful pause as the duke surveyed his audience. “You are dismissed.”
There was little hesitance before the order was heeded, and soon enough they had lost sight of Raphael and his companion in the chaos that was the emptying of the hall. They did catch sight of some other familiar faces that reminded them that as much as they wished to stay unrecognisable today, they had arrangements to attend to. And there wasn't a whole lot of time left to the first one.
With a sigh, they made back to their room and shed their disguise. It had felt strangely good to be someone else again. They had missed it.
They finished getting ready, glaring all the while at the red streak on their cheek. Why the face? He could have struck anywhere else, and had to choose the face.
Staring it into something less conspicuous would not work. Resigned, they sat down at their vanity to blend it into their skin with the paints they liked to use on their face. While they were at it, they put some colour around their eyes, if only to distract from their cheek. To distract, too, from that expression in their eyes they didn't dare study.
Just to be safe, they rearranged their hair so it'd fall into their face a little. It was rare for them to wear it not brushed behind horns and ears — why would they cover their cheekbones when everyone loved to look at them? — but they also switched their hair up often enough to know nobody would notice.
Once done, they took themself in, followed the line of the wound without touching their skin. Basically invisible. They wondered if, once healed, they might be able to excuse it as an accidental scratch from one of their rings. They should start wearing the heavily jewelled and intricately carved ones more just in case.
They got to their feet with a sigh, and walked to the door to leave. There were mostly smaller gatherings on their schedule for today, and they were grateful for it.
*
Raphael knew he had done right. To have acted right around when most of the chaos had taken place after the initial announcement would have been too obvious, too expected. Waiting until things had settled, until those closest to the duke felt some sense of security before attempting to strike was the wiser choice. Vys was right.
Raphael knew . Still, he could not shake the feeling that a major opportunity had been lost, that he had come so very close to claiming the crown for himself only to miss his chance. He seethed with it.
So he could not help but attack viciously as his mind reeled, desperate to express some of the frustration he had been hiding behind polite smiles and feigned concern these past days. Baelun had stood their ground as always at first, but Raphael absently noticed that they had switched fully to defence a while ago. Had he been here for the fighting he’d be offended by the lack of challenge, knowing full well that Baelun could do better. As things were, he cared very little, kept pushing and thrusting with his sword, relentless even as he could start feeling his arm grow heavy.
Baelun had allowed him to fully trap them against the wall before they put an end to it, free hand raised and a warning look in their eyes as they pushed back his sword with their own.
With gritted teeth, Raphael stepped away. The moment he stopped long enough to breathe, he felt his body acutely, could no longer fail to notice how heavily he was panting, how dry his throat felt. There was hair in his eyes, stuck to his forehead with sweat and his arm and shoulder felt about ready to fall off.
With a wry smile, he realised how many of their training sessions had been like this lately. He turned around and walked to where water was waiting in the far corner of the room, set the sword aside to drink. He could hear Baelun following his example.
Raphael wet his hands, sighed at the feeling of cool water against his sore fingers, ran them over his sweat-slick face and through his hair. The tie he had been using to keep his hair out of his face nearly slid out on its own. It wasn't doing a particularly good job at it anymore.
He knew Baelun was watching him. He knew they must wonder about his disposition turning from bad to worse just recently. Or maybe they had answered that question already for themself.
“What is it?” He mumbled and turned around to face them.
Are you worried? They signed tentatively, as if that was not quite the question they wished to ask.
Raphael had no doubt it was not. “Worried? About what?” He tied back the front of his hair again, met their eyes.
They crossed their arms in front of their chest and gave him an unamused glare. It was tinged with concern.
“My father is not that low on soldiers. Besides,” he added, drying off his hands, “the threat was very clear. I have not…how did he put it?” Raphael made a show of trying to remember what he had never been able to forget. “‘Overstepped my boundaries’ since.”
They looked doubtful. Raphael shrugged, “Another round?”
Baelun shook their head and signed, Take it seriously .
“I am. That's why I'm here,” he offered them a smile and picked up his sword again, “So?”
They motioned towards the timepiece in a shorthand for class soon .
“A short round,” he grinned, motioning for them to pick up their sword.
They held his gaze for a moment, conflicted. They knew that Raphael would not say more on the subject, no matter how much they might wish to discuss this further. Then again, their time together had never been one filled with words. With a defeated sigh, they picked up their sword and turned to him with a warning so clear in their face it did not need their hands to convey the message.
Focus .
Raphael nodded, “Deal.”
It was later than planned when Raphael left the training grounds, but he did not hurry. Some plan or another had fallen through — some schedules had clashed, excuses had been given — and he finally had managed to keep his evening free for once. The days since the duke’s announcement had been too busy, too full and he had been craving some time alone, some time to think quietly. Maybe it would help him calm down if he could just take a step back and look at his options.
Dinner was waiting for him, and despite his aching muscles and sticky skin itching for a bath, he did sit down to eat first. He was exhausted, but the prospect of an evening not spent returning vacant smiles as he nodded along with someone’s concerns in these trying times made him eager not to rush himself. Last time court had fallen into similar chaos he had been absent, and this time he was learning quickly that it really did take all his strength to not roll his eyes at most of the petty complaints, and grind his teeth at how every comment about the current situation — and that was nearly all everyone talked about — reminded him painfully of how the crown should be at its most vulnerable right now. And yet, his own brow was barren still.
He sighed, chewing slowly. Vys had left right away, among those panicking nobles with close ties in the south, be it familiar or matters of business. She had not been panicked — Raphael doubted he'd ever see that — but went out to see what had become of their suspiciously silent informants. He pushed the thought away. There was no point in dwelling on it until she'd come back. It'd only frustrate him further.
Dinner finished, he moved on to the bath, finding himself wondering if maybe he'd feel less restless had he been allowed to leave, too. At least then he'd feel like he'd be doing something that was any different from what he had been doing since returning to society.
A dangerous thought. He had learned early on that the best thing to do was to not dare to miss his perceived early freedom to leave court. It had never been real, and still the memory of it left him tempted to try and escape. The last thing he needed right now was his father keeping a closer eye on him.
He let himself sink into the water after realising he'd been standing still and lost in thought just at its edge. A deep sigh escaped his lips, a quiet hum as he felt tense muscles relax at the warmth. He closed his eyes and for a moment, his mind was silent.
It wandered again, soon, but what he found himself thinking of was the book waiting, unopened still, on the couch by the fireplace. It had been there since before the duke’s announcement, and the days since had left him no time to start it. The library was far from a quiet place at any time of day right now, filled with too many low whispers of both old residents searching for distraction and those who had come here to find…Raphael didn't know what. He found it very difficult to actually focus on what those people believed they might get from Mephistopheles by coming here now. They would not get it either way, that was certain.
Raphael finished washing, lingered only a little longer before rising from the water again. The warmth was making him sluggish, and he fully intended to at least start that book before retiring to bed tonight.
He slipped into his dressing gown after drying himself off, and left the bath to get his book. The knock came just as he reached the chair. With a frown, he turned to the door.
It had to be them. Vys could not be back yet, and she'd send word ahead of coming to his door. What did they want?
He tried to listen for the sobs from last time, but there was only silence. He had not seen them since leaving them here the day before everything had descended into chaos, and had not thought about them aside from occasionally wondering what exactly they had done to anger Mephistopheles.
It didn't matter. They knew he had been right now.
Another knock, not soft like the last time, but insistent. Raphael threw a last glance at the book, but he knew already that his curiosity would not allow him to ignore the door. He hadn’t thought they’d dare show their face here again after last time. It intrigued him.
He did not hurry to the door, but by the time he reached it they knocked again. They weren’t giving up. He pulled the door open.
“Finally,” they greeted him, their usual grin on their lips. “I thought you were going to leave me standing at your door all night.”
Raphael covered his initial confusion with mild irritation. “I do not remember calling for you, therefore it would have been your fault if you ended up standing there all night.” He took a moment to take them in, still blocking their entrance. They looked a lot like usual, clothes extravagant and cut to hug their body just right, fabric only lose when there was a chance at a glimpse of skin, teasing. That sweet, near-dizzying scent clung to them again, a hot summer’s night in a flowering garden, the chill of something warmer still beneath it.
And yet, neither hid the thin mark of the cut down their cheek, nor the strange dullness of their yellow eyes. They looked weary, even if they were clearly doing their most to hold themself as they usually would have. Raphael bit back a grin of satisfaction. “What do you want?”
“What I always want, princess,” they hummed, leaned a little closer.
Their fingers came to trail along his shoulder, and Raphael crossed his arms in front of his chest, if only to suppress the shiver running through him. Their fingers felt cold through his robe, the bath’s heat still warming his skin. He exhaled, met their eyes.
“After last time, you might have to specify what that means.”
For a brief moment, their face fell, fingers slipping from Raphael’s arm. The silence that followed was short, but heavy, their smile wry when they spoke, “You can see tonight as an…apology for inconveniencing you last time.”
They did not sound comfortable speaking about it, tone both offer and plea to let it rest. He watched them struggle to keep the despair off their face, and wondered why they had come. They must have known that Raphael would refuse to ignore it, and yet they looked so very desperate for him to do just that.
Maybe that’s what it was. Maybe they needed something to be like before after everything had changed.
It wasn’t a foreign concept to Raphael. Still, he couldn’t let them off so easily. “All you ever do is inconvenience me, Haarlep.”
Sometimes he remembered to use the name as its intended insult still, though they barely seemed to register it anymore. He felt the weight of their hand on his hip first, knew they must have felt how he straightened up a little at it from the grin gracing their lips. Distracted as he was, he only realised they had come even closer because he found himself having to look up to keep holding their gaze.
“Would you not say that I usually make it a pleasurable inconvenience?”
Raphael still hated how their smooth voice seemed to seep through his very skin when they lowered it like this, despised how at this angle their lashes threw long enough shadows over their eyes and cheeks to hide the tiredness he had seen there before.
Still, he refused to look away. “Come in, then.”
They hid it well, but Raphael felt the hand on his hip relax in relief, saw the sinking of their tight shoulders. Either this was just that important to them, or they had genuinely been unsure whether he'd let them in again.
Whichever it was, Raphael did not get to ponder it much longer as they walked him backwards into the room and kissed him while the door fell shut behind them.
Raphael uncrossed his arms at last and pulled them closer, allowed himself to relax against them. Sometimes it still startled him, how familiar they had become, how his body arched into the anticipated paths of their hands, how his mouth knew the shape of their tongue like his own.
Their free hand came to trace along the gap of his robe over his chest, drew a gasp from his lips as their hand slid beneath the fabric and down his chest. Their hair fell loose down their back tonight and Raphael ran a hand through it, grip tightening when they nipped his bottom lip.
Raphael pushed them apart, unsteady, and led the way to the bedroom. He heard their quickened breaths behind him as they followed, the rustling of fabric being shed. Raphael could not deny how it thrilled him to be desired by them when they themself were so desirable. Not that he'd admit to it.
They closed the door behind them both as they followed him into the bedroom. It had not been that long since they had been in here. So why did it feel so?
His thoughts were interrupted by a noise of pleasant surprise behind him, and he turned to them in some confusion. Their eyes were trained on the wall beside the bed, a spot that had been empty not too long ago and now held the drawing they had given him in a gilded frame.
“You liked it after all,” they said, and the mockery in their voice was overshadowed by their genuine delight.
Raphael ignored the warmth rising to his already flushed cheeks, kept his voice steady. “I didn't know what else to do with it.” He followed their gaze. It still startled him just how lifelike it managed to look despite being just black and white. “I just wish you hadn't made it such an undignified pose.”
They laughed, and Raphael was struck by how clear it sounded, how genuine. He frowned at them, but they met it only with a grin.
“Learn to sleep in a more dignified manner and I will draw you again,” they chuckled. With a step, they closed the distance between them, cupped his face and kissed him again. Their hands ran down his chest, undid the belt. Teeth closed around the tip of his ear, fingers digging into his shoulders before they pushed the fabric off, and Raphael’s shaky exhale at it might have been a shiver or an expression of his impatience. He decided it should be latter, took their hand and pulled them towards the bed.
Their weight was familiar as they settled on his hip, their body warm as they pinned his wrists above his head. Raphael arched into them with a sigh, eyelashes fluttering as they pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his jaw. Another followed, lips pressing into the soft underside of his jaw, a brief swipe of their tongue, a slight scrape of teeth and Raphael gasped, turned his head for easier access. They kissed his neck, stray strands of their hair brushing against his chest with the movement, making him shudder.
Their grip on their wrists tightened, and Raphael suddenly realised he had turned towards the drawing on the wall. He was struck by how the fingers caressing the inside of his wrists had been the same ones that drew those lines. There was something in that realisation he couldn't pinpoint, especially not when their hot mouth was sucking what would surely become bruises with how the spots ached into his skin.
He felt the warmth disappear, and their weight shift, tensed with anticipation. “What is it?” their low voice came eventually, and he realised he had not moved from his position, eyes still vaguely trained on the picture on the wall.
“You'd rather be looking at yourself?” they mocked, and the next time they spoke, Raphael froze, “I can do that.”
It was his own voice in his ears, and when he turned towards them, it was his own face hovering above. It wasn't quite right — the eyes, he noticed, were still yellow — but it was him, a strange, slightly distorted reflection of his face. Raphael could but gape.
They chuckled in amusement, and it was his rough, throaty laugh instead of their smooth one. “I like you speechless.”
He frowned at how strange his voice sounded from their lips — those weren’t quite right either, were they? — the tone just a little too much like theirs to be his, even if the voice was. It was all very dizzying, and when they bent to kiss him slowly, gently, the noise escaping his throat was as much confusion as it was pleasure. The thrill when they drew his lower lip into their — his? — mouth and bit was sharp, his gasp breathless as he arched into them. Raphael wondered briefly if it was his teeth he was feeling, his mouth he could taste. He wanted more. Curious, desirous, he flexed his hands, pushing against their grip with the overwhelming urge to feel their skin and find out if it was like his own.
Surprise and delight was evident in their face when they pulled away to look at him, something else in their eyes making him feel much too warm, short of breath.
“Let me go,” he demanded, forcing himself to stop struggling and hold their gaze despite his flushed face.
They raised a brow, and Raphael got briefly distracted wondering if this was what it looked like when he did it. It looked good. “Say please ,” they drawled, evidently enjoying every moment of this.
Raphael didn't know what to think of seeing that expression on his face. It made him feel warmer still, and yet he forced himself to glare, made sure the insincerity in his voice sounded clearer than his desperation when he repeated, “Please.”
A satisfied grin spread on their lips and they held him still for longer than Raphael liked before finally relinquishing his wrists. Their mockery was quickly forgotten as he traced up their arms, dug his fingers into shoulders that he thought felt firmer than theirs usually did, and pulled them down.
*
Raphael’s erratic heartbeat had slowed beneath their ear to something steady enough to probably send them to sleep if they focused on it. It felt good to be back here. It felt better for how much it had been their usual dance. They had been afraid of Raphael refusing to ignore what had happened last time when all they wished for was having some semblance of normalcy again.
Their new orders had come near immediately after the duke's speech, and they had barely known a free minute since. Still, nothing had been said about their freedom.
“I forgot you can do this,” Raphael’s voice came, sounding surprisingly awake.
They shifted their head to look up at him, a sleepy grin on their lips. His brows still furrowed briefly at the sight of his face. “Fuck you senseless?” they teased.
He rolled his eyes. “I have all my senses about, actually.”
Unfortunately, he was right. Raphael always recovered disappointingly fast. It did make his brief moments of senselessness all the more delicious.
Idly, he brushed loose strands behind their ear, expression still one of curious fascination. “Change your shape.”
They frowned, then laughed. “You forgot the main difference between us.” It wasn't meant to come out quite as pointed as it did. Mockery was heavy in their tone as they quickly added, “You really never spent any real time around your court-bred pets, hm?”
“Why would I? I know how popular they are for spying.”
They sighed, traced idle patterns on his chest. “And you have so much to hide.”
“I do not.” He sounded nearly regretful, and they had to snort. Raphael shot them a disapproving glance. “I still much prefer keeping them at a distance.”
They grinned, “Aw, you're making me feel so special.”
Raphael shook his head. Silence settled, and they laid their head on his chest again. Their finger’s idle dance continued, earning them the occasional shiver from Raphael.
“How does it work?” he eventually asked.
“Hm?”
“How do you do it?” His hand followed the curve of their shoulder slowly, curiously. “The changing.”
They shrugged. He was not the first to ask, and they still had no real answer. “I don't know how to explain it.” It came naturally, not much more than a thought required. It made it impossible to describe. “The easiest way is if you turn into someone you have seen, I guess. It's easier to visualise something you have real reference for, and then just…take their shape.”
He frowned, considered those words and shifted a little to have a better look at their face. They pressed their lips together to hide their disappointment at losing his chest as their pillow in the process, settled into the cold pillow beside his head. Raphael studied them closely for a moment.
“But it's not really right. The nose is a wrong shape—”
“Oh, I smoothed out some imperfections in the process.”
The self-satisfied grin was on their lips just as Raphael’s face soured.
“Imperfections?!” They bit their tongue not to laugh at his offence. He seemed briefly speechless with it, petulant when he spoke at last, “I'll let you know that nobody has ever complained about my nose.”
“Of course not,” they soothed mockingly, trailing the bridge of his nose. They'd never complain about it, either. “Few people really want to see their real shape, and it's not easy to get tiny details quite perfect. The eyes, for example, are nigh impossible, but usually nobody takes much notice. Few of us are in situations where anyone will stare into our eyes for too long.”
He frowned at that for a long time, eyes locked with theirs as if to disprove their point. Or maybe figure out what their words meant.
“Why wouldn't they want to see themselves properly?” he asked.
The genuine confusion in his voice made them laugh. “A question to be expected from somebody who went through with fucking himself.”
He raised both eyebrows. “You tell me others don't.”
They grinned. He still looked at it with a sense of wonder. It amused them that they seemed to have underestimated just how pleased he was with his own face. “Oh, most get curious, sooner or later. But usually they quickly opt out. Too freaked out by it.”
Raphael’s frown showed his utter incomprehension to what they were describing. He was a gift.
“Strange,” was his concluding statement on the matter, and they chuckled at the prospect of everyone else being the oddity here. The mockery seemed lost on him. He stifled a yawn. “You can turn back now.”
They raised a brow. “Oh? I can sleep in this shape if you wish. Once changed there is no active effort in holding it.”
Raphael shook his head. “Waking up to see my own face sounds…disorienting.”
“ That's where you draw the line?” They couldn't fully hide their genuine bafflement behind amusement.
Again, Raphael met their eyes. “For now.”
Something like a thrill went through them at the tone he said it in. It was as easy to shed the form as it had been to take it. Raphael's eyes did not leave them in the brief moment it took, but judging by his disappointed look afterwards told them he had not seen anything to sate his curiosity about the ability.
His eyes wandered to their jaw again, and they struggled to keep the grin on their lips steady. They itched to duck their head and hide their face in his shoulder. They wished they had covered the paling scar before coming here. It would have been pointless, would have defeated the purpose of this whole visit.
Still, they wished he'd stop looking.
“Let's sleep,” he mumbled. It felt like mercy, and they gratefully curled into his side and closed their eyes. He put his arm around them, and they held their breath at how strong the memory of their last night spent here came crashing back. He did not pull away and they didn't want him to, forced themself to relax into his touch. It wasn't long until Raphael’s breath grew calm. It was quite some time before they fell asleep, too.
Chapter 13
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It was unbearably busy, and they could not afford to slow down. The steady ebb and flow of people coming and going to and from court had turned into a flood with a lot more coming than leaving. And Mephistopheles seemed determined to know one thing or another about every single one of them.
They did not dare to disappoint after their misstep. So their nights and days were packed with outings, small and big, and they were back to doing what they were best at. It should have been relieving, to be back to usual, but while they had always been anxious to please their master before, it had been a vague, aimless feeling. Now they knew all too well that disappointing Mephistopheles would have consequences.
The feeling was far from vague, but instead a sharp, urgent reminder every time conversation wasn’t quite yielding to their charms or a dance partner did not take their bait to chat. It was a tightness in their chest, and it was ever-present. It was fear.
They met Lythil again at one of the gatherings that wasn’t going as well as they would have liked. Busy as everything had been, they had not seen her since the night they had left her and her pet in bed. It felt like too much time had passed since. Nothing felt quite as it had before, even if they kept going through familiar motions. It felt jarring to be face to face with the last person things had felt normal with before it had all come down.
At first neither of them spoke. They had retreated with their drink, aware that their growing frustration at how slowly the evening was going was starting to seep into their mannerisms, their tone. They had to calm down. The night was far from over.
Preoccupied as they were with their own thoughts, it took them a moment to realise the presence beside them was Lythil. She had evidently noticed, but had kept silent. Their distracted state must be obvious if even Lythil was giving them space.
Even after noticing her, they could not think of a way to break the silence. Tonight was truly miserable.
“You told him, didn’t you?” she eventually asked, voice quiet. They knew who she was talking about, knew, too, that they would not answer that question. With a sigh, she looked up at them, “It's been a while since you stopped by.”
“I have not been avoiding you, my lady.” It wasn’t completely a lie, at least. “It has just been very busy for me”
“For me, too,” She lowered her gaze in shame, “My apologies.”
They closed their eyes for a moment, wondering why it was that they struggled to shed the obligation they felt to keep her happy. Maybe they liked her too much. Maybe they were simply too tired to deal with any more disappointment tonight.
They turned to her, tipped her head up by her chin so she could see their smile. “The next time I have a moment to breathe I will call, I promise.”
She looked as surprised as she looked relieved, the joy in her eyes putting some genuine warmth into their smile.
“I won't keep you as long again,” she mumbled sincerely, holding their gaze with a conflicting one of her own. Regret and apology warred with how much she did not wish to make this promise.
They appreciated it, nodded and let her go. “Thank you.” With a smile, they added, “I promised a dance earlier, so I have to go. Please, enjoy your evening.”
She nodded, her smile thin as she watched them go back into the crowd.
It was their second dance of the night, and they didn't feel any closer in getting him to speak. They caught a glimpse of Lythil's hair in the crowd as he turned them around, twirled them. The smile on his face was charming as he pulled them close again, but their gentle prodding only got deflected.
Giving up was not an option, they would have to make him speak. If he would not here, they would bring him somewhere more private.
He did not seem displeased by their company per se, and once they kept quiet and only let their eyes speak, their grin tease, he seemed to relax. Very well. They could work with this.
They felt much greater distaste at leading him through their door's threshold later that night than they should have. Their haven had always been an illusion.
Still, they had not admitted any unwanted guests before, and it felt like the last of the pretty illusion crumbled that night.
The knock on their door came early enough that they considered ignoring it. To their endless relief, they had woken alone. They would have liked to wallow and recover from yesterday before facing another too full day of trying to be everywhere at once. They couldn't afford to disappoint.
“My lady sends me,” the voice came softly through the door, and they smiled despite it all. They hadn't seen Lythil's pet last night. It surprised them how pleased they were at the sound of his voice.
“Wait,” they said, rising from bed.
They threw their robe on — a heavy, deep forest-green thing tailored to hug their torso like a glove, cinched at the waist with a metal clasp to spill to the floor in a short train. An old gift that no longer met their standards, and yet they couldn't part with. They frowned as they brushed it smooth, surprised by their sudden sentimentality. The night had clearly been too long, and they evidently should have had a glass or two less of the good wine.
At last, they opened the door, brushing their hair back with their free hand. “Good morning,” they greeted, meeting their brilliant blue eyes.
He returned their smile, held up the small parcel in his hand. “Excuse the early intrusion, but she thought you might like them still warm.”
They motioned for him to enter, eyeing the paper box in his hand curiously while closing the door behind him. “What did she send?”
“Pastries,” he carefully set them down on the table by the entrance. “Trial ones, apparently after some new recipe that reached court with the latest influx of people. She thought they may be to your taste, and bids you to let her know if you can think of any improvements.”
“Thank you.” It was too early, and they sounded too affected by such a simple gesture. They cleared their throat, quickly adding, “And her.”
“She also asked me to extend her invitation from last night to you again.” He offered them a small smile, “A lot of the games she enjoys idling the rare free afternoon away with are best played with three.”
His smile was infectious, or maybe it was the very welcome gentle tone he spoke in that made the corners of their mouth twitch up. “I promise I will send word the moment I foresee being free.”
He nodded, satisfied. Then asked, “How are you?”
Something in his tone suggested Lythil’s errands were done. It was him asking about their wellbeing now because he cared to know the answer. They saw the question in his eyes as they briefly darted lower, to their jaw. To their relief, he didn't voice it, so they could pretend not to have noticed.
“Fine, if very busy.” They sighed, crossing their arms in front of their chest. “It feels like I had no concept of what court would be like actually bustling before. It's fun, but I miss the free hours to fill as I please.”
“They'll return eventually. Once it becomes quite clear that the apocalypse is not nigh, many will return home and go about their business, if some with new routes.”
“I guess so…” Bitterly, they wondered if they’d still be here when that happened, or if freedom would finally be theirs by that point. Why did it seem so unlikely? They shook their head, took him in. “What about you? Anything interesting I'm not privy to?”
“No, not really. Much talk, and it's all the same.” He seemed to hesitate, before adding, “I did hear the prince has been seen around the training grounds frequently as of late.”
They hadn't had time to bother Raphael in a while, though they had seen him at more than one of the gatherings they had been attending. After leaving him, relieved that he might do them the favour of pretending their breakdown hadn't happened, it had quickly become clear that something was still not as it had been before. They had talked as they used to in polite company, and yet their banter had been just a little more tense, their words more barbed, their teasing more akin to thinly veiled insults.
“It seems unlikely that the rumours you asked me about last time have much truth to them.” They nearly jumped at the sound, so lost in their own thoughts. He kept his gentle, steady tone, eyes holding their gaze, “Maybe he simply hides there whenever court gets overrun.”
Something about the idea of socialite Raphael hiding from potentially adoring crowds made them snicker. It seemed absurd. The smile pulling on his lips looked a little confused, but he looked satisfied. It made them wonder just how grim their expression had to have been before.
“It could be, I guess.”
He nodded. “I won’t bother you any longer. Do not forget my lady’s invitation, and do enjoy the pastries.” His eyes wandered to the wall behind the fireplace with a smile. “I forgot just how pretty it turned out.”
They followed his eyes, and had to smile, too. The room might not be their own, but the wall at the very least looked like it.
“Thank you. I forget sometimes, too.” They brought him to the door again. Briefly, he put his warm hand against their cheek as he bid them goodbye.
“Thank you,” they mumbled again. He smiled and turned to leave.
By some miracle, their afternoon plans that had also been their evening plans fell through. They knew they should simply go to a different event, or at the very least keep their promise to Lythil and let her know.
Instead, they found themself wandering a part of court they had never been to before. There had not been much interest in the training grounds to them. They were remote and there had never been much reason for them to come out this far. The baths were the closest they had been, and as they passed by the entrance they briefly felt tempted to forget about their plans and spend their sudden free time soaking. They could do with some relaxation.
But they could hear the voices from within even outside. The idea of escaping their scheduled pleasant talk with half-strangers only to fill it with the same but in a different place did not appeal to them. They walked on.
Before coming here, they had stopped by Raphael’s door. Nobody had answered, and part of them had been relieved. Had he opened that door it would have been an obvious admittance to how desperate they were for distraction — for just one aspect of their life Mephistopheles had not touched — but now, trying to find him here they could easily sell it for another attempt at getting on his nerves. It wouldn't even be a lie.
The grounds outside were packed with some sort of lesson or practice. They did not stop to watch the group, sure that Raphael wouldn't be among them. Inside it was, then.
It was warm inside the building. The noises of clanking weaponry and those wielding it were muted by the closed doors compared to outside, but the halls were evidently just as busy.
They walked past said doors slowly, listening for a voice they might recognise. Or at the very least a door that seemed to be holding but one person behind. At some point of them pondering the information that Raphael spent time here, they had concluded he had to do it alone. Why else would rumours spread about it? If he'd be training with others it would have hardly been worth mentioning.
They had walked long enough past too loud doors to consider giving up, when a noise they recognised reached them. They waited by the door, listened. There was no talking like they had heard from the others, only the clinking of metal, the occasional grunt. They knew the sound well enough to be confident in who they’d find once they opened the door.
Raphael was not alone. The one blocking and parrying his every blow was not somebody they had seen before. Scarred, horns two uneven stumps on the top of their forehead, grey hair shorn close to the scalp, they reminded them of the soldiers they used to see when they had still lived close to the border. So much time had passed since they felt strangely disoriented staring at them.
It was Raphael shoving them back with his sword, all but blocking their view of them, that snapped them out of half-forgotten memories of long bygone times.
They focused on him to reign in their mind. Familiar of a sight as he was, they had never seen him like this. His attire was simple compared to his usual, but not any less immaculately tailored for it, black fabric hugging broad shoulders just right, accentuating his arms every time he raised the sword in his hand. The front of his slicked back hair had been secured with a tie, though they had no doubt that it would've stayed in place, drenched in sweat as it was.
More importantly, though, they had never seen him so singularly concentrated, had never seen that perpetual tension usually hidden beneath calculated, decadent languorousness all but gone. No, gone was the wrong word, but it was focused . In a full room, it had always been evident to them how much he strove to not only keep his attention on the conversation at hand, but also keep the rest of the room in mind. He’d grow more and more tense with the effort, until eventually he’d take notice and force himself to calm down.
There was none of that now. All that energy was funnelled into keeping track of his opponent here. He seemed more alert than tense, his body clearly relishing having an outlet for what he usually pushed away.
It was the other one that spotted them, and they belatedly realised they had come in silently and started gaping instead of using such a delicious opportunity to announce themself flippantly. It was much too late for that now as the stranger raised a hand to motion for Raphae to stop, whose back was still to them.
“What?” hearing him talk in his irritated voice snapped them out of their awe a little. The tone, however, also piqued their interest. They had never heard him use it in public, only when they had been alone.
For a response, his sparring partner only gave a curious nod in their direction and lowered their sword. Raphael did not follow their example as he looked back over his shoulder, eyebrows drawn together impatiently. His eyes went as wide as they had ever seen them, expression quickly running from confusion to shocked disbelief, morphing into plain and simple anger.
“What are you doing here?” Raphael finally lowered his sword as he turned around to face them properly. They met his gaze squarely as usual, but did not miss his sparring partner watching them with new interest, eyes flitting from one to the other.
This, they realised, would have been the opportunity for their flippant remark had they thought of one beforehand. Or if they would be able to think now, with Raphael’s blazing eyes piercing right through them, loose strands of his hair stuck to his sweat-slick forehead, the fabric of his shirt clinging to his chest with every laboured inhale.
They licked their lips. Their mouth was dry.
“I was curious whether it was true what I've heard about the bastard prince spending his free hours here.”
“Who says that?” there was something like alarm in his harsh, demanding tone, and they realised then that this was Raphael’s little haven. The way all the tension had returned to him at their sight, the way he cared not for how the other saw him act. This had to be where he came to get away from it all, and their presence was soiling it.
A cruel satisfaction warmed them from within. It was only fair he lost something for a change. They had precious little left to lose, and had not forgotten the pleasure in his eyes the night their delicate illusion of a future had crumbled.
They waved away his question with a grin. “Whoever they were, they were clearly right. I never took you for a fighter.”
Their tone had slipped more quickly into insult than intended. The silent audience furrowed their brow, and they tried to smooth it over with a playful grin. Raphael only glared at them in response, mouth a thin line. It made it very difficult to fight the shiver running down their spine.
The other one interrupted the glaring by putting one of their bony hands on Raphael’s shoulder. A thick, ropy scar stretched all the way across the back of their hand, two fingers were missing. They tried to remember if that had been the hand holding the sword a moment ago.
Distracted, they must have missed some kind of wordless conversation between the two since Raphael suddenly turned to them again with a deep, annoyed sigh, gaze, if possible, more irritated. “Resident sword master Baelun bids you to introduce yourself since you already interrupted this session.”
Surprised, they turned to the silent stranger. The deepening wrinkles at the corner of their eyes and the way they seemed to be fighting a smile made them assume Raphael’s acid tone did not reflect their opinion on their intrusion accurately. As far as they could tell, Baelun looked just shy of amused, and rather intrigued.
They could work with that. A charming smile on their lips, a lavish bow and their sweetest voice as they said, “I am but a…friend.” They rose again just in time to catch the sideways glance Baelun threw Raphael. They looked surprised, and also doubtful. Latter nearly made them snicker. They must know him quite well to react like this. “I did not mean to intrude so rudely, I hope you will forgive the transgression. I had assumed Raphael was alone.”
“There is little to be gained from training alone,” Raphael all but spat. Baelun did not look like they entirely agreed.
They shrugged. “How would I know? I've never even held a sword.”
Raphael actually looked surprised. “Never?”
They shook their head, crossed their arms in front of their chest at the near-accusatory tone. It was obvious what he was thinking, though they had not expected him to voice it, “Daring, for one such as you.”
“I know how to keep out of the sort of trouble that might end in me having to learn to carry one.” Their tone was cold. How dare he talk like he knew? He did not know how it was to live with the ever-present threat to be sent to die in a never-ending war for disobedience to those who owned your life. They had put up with too much to avoid that fate to now be lectured on the wisdom of not being prepared to face it by somebody who had always been free.
Raphael opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the sound of Baelun clearing their throat pointedly. Curiously, they looked to the swordmaster, very aware that it was the first sound they had made. Since they had bid Raphael to speak on their behalf, they had assumed them unable to talk. Had they been wrong?
Raphael’s offended look as he turned around to the swordmaster did not impress Baelun in the least, their hands already busy signing to him. By their expression they would guess it was a question. It was not the first time they cursed themself for not prioritising learning sign language.
The next time Raphael spoke, it was to them, “Leave.”
They frowned, glanced at Baelun, who had crossed their arms in front of their chest, looking at Raphael in disapproval. Had he ignored what they had said?
“What did they say?” they insisted, looking back at Raphael.
He rolled his eyes, “He asked me if this session was over, which it is not. You have found the answer to your question, satisfied your curiosity.” His grip tightened on the sword still in his hand. “It is time for you to leave.”
They frowned, pointedly looked at Baelun, not quite pleading, “Why can't I stay and watch?”
Even as Baelun shrugged their shoulders with a side glance at Raphael, latter barked, “Why would you want to watch if you have no interest in swordfighting?”
It was their turn to shrug as they met his eye, “I enjoyed what I saw earlier,” it was far from a lie, “Just because I don’t wish to learn to fight it doesn’t mean I cannot enjoy a display of said skill.”
“I am not here for your pleasure,” Raphael insisted, and they bit their tongue not to taunt about that.
Baelun made him turn to them anyway, hands all but flying in what they assumed was an argument in the audience's favour. They hoped, at least. The amusement in their green eye had to be in their favour, no? Raphael’s irritated frown only made the laugh-lines deepen in their face.
“This has nothing to do with nervousness,” Raphael sounded offended. “An audience will only distract.” There was something in the quirk of Baelun’s eyebrow next that made them nearly certain that they were throwing the argument back at him. That's why you should practise with one , they seemed to say. They wondered how accurate of an assessment this was.
Raphael only looked more furious. It was strange to see him wear his feelings so openly with Baelun. Somehow, they had believed it an achievement to manage to get him even close to this riled up in the privacy of his own rooms. He relinquished self-control so stubbornly usually.
Clearly, he had no such qualms here as he asserted, “No.”
They could not resist butting into the conversation, could not resist poking him even further, “I’ll be very quiet, promise.”
Baelun only nodded in agreement. The sigh leaving Raphael’s lips was more akin to a groan of frustration. “Fine!” He turned his back to them, nodded at the sword Baelun had set aside. “Let's stop wasting time.”
Baelun seemed to agree, for the sword was back in their hand immediately, and they did not wait a heartbeat longer before attacking. Raphael was ready to take the blow, moved with surprising grace to counter.
They gave a brief glance around the room, but decided the nearest bench was too far to bother, settling for leaning back against the wall by the door. They did not want to disturb, nor miss any more of this strange dance.
It was mesmerising to watch, if often difficult to follow every turn and twist and step. Clueless as they were about swordsmanship, it wasn’t difficult to tell that these two were well-matched opponents. It looked more like a dance, if a rather ferocious one, as they attacked and drew back and circled each other. Raphael seemed to forget about their presence after a bit, attention consumed by Baelun. He was relentless and intense, a fierceness to his every move that left them breathless. There was elegance, too, an ease to how he swung his sword that spoke of how little thought he had to put into it. He was not showing off, they didn’t think, but simply in his element. The rumours of him being here frequently from long ago had to be true.
They had no idea how long they stood there watching, mesmerised and in awe, before the fighting came to an end. It was Baelun who gave the sign to stop, and they could tell that Raphael, despite looking exhausted enough to collapse soon, was not very happy about it. The tension immediately returned to his shoulders when he caught sight of them on the way to drink, and for once they had no desire to make it any worse and kept quiet. For a bit, the two of them conversed as they drank, and the words spoken were too little for them to get an idea of what they were talking about.
Both turned to them after they were done, and they bowed and thanked them for allowing them to stay. Raphael looked unimpressed, but Baelun gave them a smile and a nod.
When Raphael left, they left with him, waving the swordmaster goodbye before exiting the room.
Raphael was quietly fuming beside them, but they were too lost in thought to care. They walked quietly, reviewing the past couple hours.
“How long have you known Baelun?” They eventually asked, curiosity getting the better of them.
“Long.” Raphael responded brusquely, throwing them a suspicious glance from the corner of his eye. “Why do you care?”
For a moment, they thought of how to best phrase it. “I was simply surprised at seeing you so…at ease.”
“It is easy to be at ease when you let blades do the talking.”
“I suppose,” they conceded. “But even the actual talking…you seem…close.”
“Inevitably, you will grow closer than strangers if you see each other as often as we have.” There was a finality to his words that made them quite certain they would get nothing else by pressing. They wondered if he was even aware of how unusually comfortable he seemed around the swordmaster.
It was Raphael who broke the silence next. “Why are you following me? You have more than sated your curiosity about how I spend my free time.”
“I thought you might need some help decompressing after your training,” they hummed, voice low and hand coming to rest oh-so-lightly on his lower back.
He shook his head with a sigh, but did not remove their hand. They watched as his brows furrowed, probably pondering some kind of retort. Exhaustion kept him quiet and they felt him lean slightly into their hand.
The rest of the way to his rooms passed in unusual quiet for them. They didn’t think Raphael minded it, tired as he was, and they quite enjoyed having the opportunity to let their mind wander over the turn the afternoon had taken. They had believed to have a relatively good grasp of Raphael as a person. It felt a little shaken now.
To their excitement, he led the way to the bath once they closed the door to his rooms behind them both. They had not been in there since the first time and thought of it often, wondered if Raphael put it to good use, spent hours soaking and thinking of nothing in particular as the water soothed. They knew that's what they'd do were it their bath.
“Make yourself useful,” Raphael said, motioning to his shirt.
With a chuckle, they approached him, started undoing the clasps of his shirt. “Am I your valet now?”
“I do not have a valet.”
“Mhm.” They grinned, pondered if it would even be worth it to try and ask why. The response would be paranoia. Would he get mad if they implied so? Probably. Still, they couldn't resist a comment, “I have never seen any servants around here.”
“I don’t need them.”
“And yet, you put me to work as one the moment you can.”
There was a warning in his eye when he looked at them next, “Since you insist on being around uninvited, I may as well, no?”
They raised both brows, but kept the myriad of possible comebacks that'd sour his expression even further to themself. It would not be beyond him to kick them out, and they really did want to take a bath.
Fully undressed, Raphael did not wait for their assistance to step into the bath, leaving them standing where they were without another word. Rolling their eyes at such pointed display of supposed displeasure at their presence, they shed their own garments to join him.
The quiet that settled was shared bliss as they both sank into the warm water, muscles relaxing. All they had been doing the past hour was leaning against a wall, and yet their back seemed immensely grateful for the soothing heat. They could not imagine how much of a relief this had to be for Raphael’s exhausted body.
They placed their hand on his shoulder, pressed slightly. It was difficult to tell whether the noise leaving Raphael’s lips was a gasp or a groan, but he seemed startled at it himself, flexed his shoulder.
“Did that feel good?” They couldn't help sounding just a little amused.
Thankfully, he either didn't notice or didn't care for once. A simple nod was the answer, his eyes still closed, the steam from the bath catching in the thick lashes laying against his cheek. Unfairly pretty with no effort put into it.
They shook the thought off, straightened up in the water with a pleasant shiver. Raphael did not move, nor blink his eyes open at the sound. How much they wished to tease his carelessness in the presence of such a dangerous spy.
With a roll of their eyes, and a deep sigh, they sat down on the edge of the pool behind him, putting their legs back into the water with enough space between them for Raphael to keep sitting in his seemingly half-melted state. It at least kept the wings low enough to make this comfortable.
His shoulders tensed briefly as their knees brushed against them but they relaxed the moment they put their water-warmed hands on his shoulders. The pressure they applied was gentle at first, but his shoulders were tense and hard, unyielding to their delicate touch. So they pressed their thumbs more insistently into his warm skin, dug their fingers deeply into taut muscle. Raphael wasn't surprised by the touch this time, the noises of relief still leaving his throat, but not half as loud as that first one. It was disappointing.
Other than the sounds of Raphael’s pleasure or pain as they kneaded his shoulders it was silent. There had been a lot of silence between them as of late — no, it had started even further back, before things had grown more tense. The difference was that where silence had been idle and comfortable before, there was something undeniably heavy in it now — making the space feel tight, the vastness of the bath claustrophobic.
How silly for it to have come to this. How silly for them to ache thinking about it. Raphael had been a bad idea from the start. They should have kept their distance when he told them to instead of indulging in the dizzying high of doing as they pleased.
It was too late now either way. No point in mourning what was lost forever.
They focused on Raphael to pull themself out of self-pity. It was very easy. Even relaxed like this, Raphael seemed to demand attention. After all this time they had not quite put a finger on what it was. Like a good actor stepping into even the quietest of scenes, Raphael had a presence to him that was nearly magnetic and difficult to dismiss.
They knew they could do it, too, knew they had cultivated a similar skill over a lifetime of it being vital to draw the right eyes. But this was different. It seemed to come naturally to him, and there was nothing inherently flirtatious about it. It was a weight, a point of gravitas impossible not to notice in a room. It reminded them of Mephistopheles.
They pressed their lips into a thin line, ignored the sudden itch on their jaw. The scar was already fading, and they would not poke at it and make it take any longer to heal.
Refusing to succumb to this line of thought, they looked down at Raphael. The steam softened him, put a pleasant haze over the deep red of his skin, his dark locks. He was warm with it, skin smooth and moist under their fingers, vapour catching as pearls of water in his hair. Despite it being heavy and dark with water and sweat, the tips were curling in on themselves even more than usual, strands going fuzzy with humidity instead of yielding to the extra weight of moisture. It looked cute, though they doubted he’d agree.
Idly, they interrupted their massage to twirl one of the curls falling over his neck around their finger. It got them a pleased hum. Raphael always loved getting his hair touched, even if he complained about them messing it up more often than not.
He seemed unconcerned about that now, so they indulged in playing with the loose curls. As their mind wandered and Raphael shivered against them, they found themself wondering where the curling of his hair came from. It looked so very much like his father’s except for the texture.
Frustrated, they forced their thoughts to a stop again. What had happened to their ability to find distraction from Mephistopheles in Raphael’s company? Why could they not push him to the far corner of their mind he had inhabited before he had hurt them?
They hated this, this constant haunting, the constant reminder of their failure.
“What?” Raphael’s sharp, irritated voice came, startling them out of their reverie. In their forceful stopping of their thought spiral their fingers had cramped in his hair, pulling it.
Apologising seemed a good way to only make their wallowing worse. They needed distraction. Talking could help.
They loosened their grip, pondered something, anything to tease him with. It was unsettling how much they struggled with what usually was second nature to them.
“I was just pondering your little ponytail,” they hummed at last, followed the thin band still holding back the front of his hair. For some reason he hadn't freed it yet. Or maybe it was their shortcoming. After all, they had been the one to undress him.
“What about it?” He mumbled, sounding far from caring for the answer.
They grinned, bent to his ear and lowered their voice, “I just think it looks ravishing.”
Raphael’s hand wrapped around their ankle, stopping the slow caress of his thigh as his other waved their face away. “Not now.”
They straightened up with a chuckle, both glad for his denial, for they did not wish to disturb the comfort either, but also knowing that it would have at least distracted properly. “Shall I wash your hair?”
“Do as you please,” he sounded distracted again. They wondered what was preoccupying his mind so.
They pulled his hair loose and watched his temples relax as the pressure ceased, a sigh leaving his lips. For good measure, they gently ran their fingers over his scalp, soothing. He sank more deeply into the water and they smiled.
“Close your eyes,” they warned as they filled a cup with water.
“They're already closed.” He turned his head back as if to make a point of proving the fact. They still shielded his face with their free hand as they wet his hair properly. It would have been faster if Raphael did it himself, but he seemed disinclined to move and they didn't mind having something to do. Sometimes busy hands meant a preoccupied mind.
Raphael kept quiet as they shampooed his hair, but it was a blissful silence as he leaned slightly into the touch of their fingers. They assumed that whatever had him so thoughtful was briefly forgotten.
His hand was still around their ankle. The grip had loosened when they had stopped moving, but they still felt the warmth of his hand against their skin there, the small, light circles his thumb was drawing around the bone. An idle, thoughtless touch with no demands or real intention to it. It was probably akin to how he'd sometimes tap his fingers while reading. They quite liked it.
They pondered how his hand had gotten there. There was something quite refreshing in having their advances denied like this. Something about it felt like he was speaking to them eye to eye, like he had briefly forgotten what they were.
“I wonder what would happen if I were the one to deny you?” They teased, playful but genuinely curious.
“Deny me what? You are the one constantly insisting on being in my space.”
“Oh, and you never take the opportunity to ask me to do one thing or another, do you?”
He cracked one eye open to look at them. “If you are to be believed you are here of your own volition, therefore if any of my requests displease you, you are welcome to let it be known.”
They grinned ironically. “And you will accept that?”
“You don't believe so?” A raised brow.
“No.”
Raphael furrowed his brow. “And why is that?”
“Because spoiled little brats like you who grew up getting all they wanted can rarely take a no for an answer.”
To their surprise, he laughed. There was something incredibly self-satisfied in his tone when he said, “I'd probably ask you to leave.”
“And if I refused?” they challenged.
“You would not.”
With a chuckle, they booped his nose. “Point in case.”
“I suppose,” he hummed, closing his eyes again. “Do hurry up, dinner is probably waiting already.”
“How do you know?” they asked. They had never understood Raphael’s food being served when there were no servants around.
“My arrangement with the kitchen is that I request food to be brought at a certain time I'm usually not in the dining room area.” He sighed, shook his head. “I dislike seeing them around constantly as most people keep them. If I need something, I know where to ask.”
“And you trust them to be alone in your rooms?” They raised their brows despite his shut eyes.
“Are you implying I might have something to hide from the palace's servants, Haarlep?”
“Now, those were your words.” They stopped their shampooing. “It just seems odd. You don't seem overly fond of visits.”
“Visits are not a problem. I dislike nosy people constantly at my heel.” He turned to look at them, pointedly, “I try to keep such presences minimal. Even if that means I must do some of the more inconvenient day to day necessities myself.”
“Such as?”
“Getting dressed.”
They laughed, and there was a grin on his lip when he turned his head back to look away from them. They resumed washing his hair feeling just a little lighter.
Dinner went companionably, conversation flowing easily as they kept the talk to trivialities, spoke of the latest performance that had been put on by the theatre group that had stopped at court on their flight further north. It had been the last time they had caught sight of each other at such a gathering, and Raphael had evidently not discussed it to his satisfaction before. It ended up a rather one-sided conversation, but they were enjoying themself.
The food, too, made for avid conversation. The kitchen had been adopting a lot of the cuisine of those fleeing to court as a way of welcome, and while Raphael had few kind words for the foreign spices, he did quite enjoy the wine. They nodded along with him for the most part, speaking not of how the food was quite familiar to them. It tasted of a life half-forgotten to their pallet now, so they did not entirely disagree with him anyway.
Enjoyable as dinner was, the bath had left them both exhausted and eager to retire. They half-expected him to tell them to leave. He rose wordlessly after finishing the wine, but left the bedroom door open once he disappeared through it.
They pondered the unspoken invitation for a moment, twirling the last drops of their wine in the glass between their fingers. They should leave. Their initial plan of finding out whether there was any truth to the rumour of Raphael’s time spent training had turned into a full evening of wasting time they should have probably used to find something to offer Mephistopheles next time. It had still been light out when they had set out to find Raphael. Only darkness awaited them beyond his windows now, and the tiredness making their eyelids heavy spoke of the late hour.
They should leave. Distraction should not hold this long. They’d feel the weight on their shoulders more keenly the longer they indulged in the relative levity of this room. How strange that they had come to think of this tension as light compared to how everything else seemed so acutely tainted by their Master’s presence.
With a sigh, they finished their wine and followed Raphael into the bedroom.
Dark as the room was, they had no problem finding their way to the bed. They let their robe slide to the floor before parting the heavy curtain of the canopy bed. The dim moonlight from the window behind them helped them make out Raphael’s form, lying on his back on the right side of the bed. They grinned as they took the other side, “How curious that you seem to understand the concept of sharing a bed so well while conscious.”
“I have never found you out of bed in the morning, so there is clearly enough sharing still happening in sleep.”
“I guess if you speak generously, one could say so.”
“Generosity is the virtue I aspire to most avidly.”
They both laughed, and they wondered if it was exhaustion or the wine bringing them to the edge of silliness. With a content sigh, they cuddled deeper into the bed. Near-overwhelming relief washed over them suddenly at being here, at having the familiar perfume of Raphael’s sheets in their nose and his too-firm pillows under their head. They had not realised how much they had dreaded returning to their own bed tonight until now.
How pathetic. Had they thought they could go on inviting only who they wanted to despite not being free yet? Ridiculous how far they had believed their own illusion.
“Haarlep.”
“Hm?” Sometimes it startled them, how they reacted to the name he insisted on using for them. They wondered if this is what it'd feel like to have their name, a near thoughtless connection to its sound. They pushed the thought away.
“May I ask something of you?”
They frowned at the uncharacteristic question. Raphael did not wait for a response before continuing, “Do not come to me again when I'm fighting.”
The tone sounded foreign from his mouth, too genuine, purposefully devoid of anger. Vulnerable.
Curious, they propped themself up on their elbow to get a look at his face. It was impassive. He didn't even turn to look at them.
They sighed. “That was a demand, not a request.” They shook their head. “I'm afraid I will not promise you that either way, though.”
There was little point in making promises they would not keep. And they were far too intrigued with what they witnessed today to commit to never seeing it again.
Raphael's mouth twitched into a tighter line. “No,” he mumbled, “I didn't think you would.”
The hardness of his tone seemed deliberately kept up to cover something else. Disappointment? No, it ran deeper.
He turned his back to them and closed his eyes. “Good night.”
He sounded unfathomably tired. Something like guilt tightened their chest but they pushed it away. Maybe he had lost something important today. So what? Too spoiled to be used to it, his mood would be dark for a little bit. Hardly a huge difference from his usual. It seemed only fair.
They turned their back to him, and closed their eyes.
Notes:
hello, lovely readers! I just wanted to let you know that this will be the last upload because next month I'll be participating in a little AUgust challenge in a different fandom. Also I AM starting to run low on pre-written chapters so ideally I'd be doing some of that this coming month, too! We shall see. Thank you for reading and have a wonderful August <3 See you again in the best of months~
Chapter 14
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Raphael was awake when they started shifting next to him. Under him, rather, as he seemed to have tossed in sleep again and ended up lying half across the other. He had not corrected his position once awake, too comfortable to bother.
It was being corrected for him now as they delicately untangled their limbs and tails, their warmth retreating bit by bit. The anger he had gone to sleep with had grown cold, and Raphael shuddered.
They froze, waited. Then started moving again. He despised them.
“Where are you going?” He asked when the last of their heat had retreated and the mattress dipped as they sat up. Sleep still clung to his tongue, making him slur his words, but he was too tired to care.
Surprised, they turned their head to look at him. After a brief silence, they mumbled, “To my own bed.”
“Why?” He did not intend to sound petulant, but their amused huff made it clear they had heard.
“Aw, are you pouting?” They leaned in closer again, a chuckle in their voice as bright eyes met his own. “Are you implying you’d miss me?”
Raphael stopped listening the moment their face was close enough to see the thin scar at their jaw in the dim moonlight filtering through the ever-present gap of the curtains on his side. The sight filled him with such a sudden surge of anger he could barely breathe.
Before he knew what he was doing, he reached out. They flinched back as he traced the fading line, but Raphael’s grip on their chin was firm as he pressed his thumb into skin until it didn't feel fully smooth.
“Does it hurt?” it was a demand, his voice too loud to hide the furious tremble in it.
“Not anymore,” they tried to keep their tone cold, but their eyes were a little wide in confusion. In fear.
He set his jaw, pressed on, “Who did it?”
They gaped at him in utter incomprehension, a glimmer of anger in their eyes. “You know.”
Through his teeth, he grumbled, “I suppose it makes sense that he'd discipline his pets himself.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” They tried to pull out of his grip, but Raphael had frozen. He had already said too much. Why hadn't he let them leave?
“Nothing,” he mumbled. He should let them go. They looked miserable.
He pulled them into a kiss instead. He did not know why. It felt wrong to let them part on his slip-up, and he did not really wish them to go in the first place.
For a moment he was afraid they'd push him away. Maybe that would have been a good thing. He did not feel entirely himself.
Instead, they kissed him back. Without breaking the kiss, they rolled on top of him, straddling him. Familiar as the motion was, it felt wrong. Methodical.
But Raphael could not deny the relief — triumph, even — at being indulged. Their hands did not feel any less good as they ran down his body, and soon his mind was pleasantly blank once more, the kiss only broken when both had to gasp.
Raphael did not stop them when they put on their clothes shortly after. His breaths were still coming too hard, and his mind not entirely there yet, and even if he had wanted to, he probably would have struggled to string words together to make them stay.
He watched the canopy of the bed and listened to their steps get quieter over his still too-quick heartbeat.
The door opened and closed, quietly, as if they were taking great care not to disturb him.
Raphael waited until the front door closed, too — the noise was faint, but he was no stranger to listening for that sound. His heart had calmed by then, and he could not tell if he felt exhausted or miserable. Running both hands through sweat-slick hair he let out a frustrated groan. Anger. He was still furious, that he could easily recognise.
He rolled onto his side and curled up on himself. Anger was familiar enough.
He rose late and barely had time for breakfast before hurrying to the first of many engagements of the day. He didn't know if his full schedule was a curse or a blessing. He wanted to think, and he also wanted to do anything but think.
Part of him itched to go to Baelun and try to convince them to send Haarlep away next time. There was something nearly revolting in the idea that they'd come to disturb his training again. Raphael had been unaware how much he did not wish for onlookers.
No. Onlookers themselves weren’t a problem, occasionally Baelun insisted on his training with other students. But Raphael did not want his father's eye on him there. That was it. Despite knowing well that Mephistopheles could keep an eye on him everywhere — and probably was — the training grounds had always felt strangely safe. After all, had Raphael not been sent there to be out of the duke’s vision?
Haarlep’s presence broke the illusion too thoroughly. He needed them to stay away.
Unfortunately, he also knew that arguing with Baelun would be pointless. They had looked far too intrigued by Haarlep. And they were too stubborn to listen to Raphael’s tepid arguments against their intrusion.
He had always respected their stubbornness. It made then a relentless teacher, one who had pushed Raphael until his hands had stopped shaking and he had started being able to focus on the now again. He appreciated it. But when it came to matters like this, having such a thick-headed mentor was less than helpful.
Too much thinking. People around his table were laughing as he stared darkly ahead. Raphael needed to get a grip if he was to make it through the day. He forced his mouth into an amused smile, and brought the too-sweet contents of the glass he had been served to his lips.
“The taste is rather unique, isn’t it?”
The woman sharing his padded bench smiled at him sweetly, some of the laughter still in her clear voice. Raphael did not think they had been sitting quite as close to each other when this little get-together had started.
He did not more than wet his lips before setting the glass down. Unique was not the word he would use. Repugnant would have been his choice. “Very much so,” he hummed instead, returning her smile and settling deeper into the bench. Somebody across from him giggled, and his seat neighbour actually blushed.
It made the grin on his lips a natural one.
*
Sleepless, they rose much earlier than they needed to. Unsurprisingly, they had not found any rest in their own bed, still confused about Raphael’s behaviour. Confused, and angry. Why could he not just let it rest? Why wouldn’t he stop looking at that scar, talking about it? It exhausted them. It was difficult enough to ignore it, but it was their face. It had been their pain. What excuse did he have?
For lack of something else to do, they started brushing their hair. It wasn't half as calming as usual. They could not meet their own eyes in the mirror, did not want to look at their own face. Changing it felt like an admittance of defeat, so they stubbornly did not.
Avoiding their reflection meant they caught sight of the painted wall behind their bed. How silly the excitement they had felt at personalising this space seemed now. What for? To make the lie more believable?
The lordling they had brought in the other night hadn't even glimpsed at it.
They shook their head, set down the hair brush. It would have been a poor show of their skills had they not managed to keep his attention on them.
A frustrated noise escaped their throat as they ran their fingers through their hair, pulled it up into a ponytail. Yesterday had meant to be a distraction. It had meant to be a break.
And it had gone so well at first. It had been so nice. Time well wasted.
Until Raphael destroyed it all upon waking up. Oh, how they hated him.
They pulled some strands loose to frame their face — and hide the stubborn shadows in their eyes. Their fingers trembled slightly, and so did their lower lip. They would not cry. Tears had only made everything worse already. They always had, undesirable when not outright forbidden and punished.
They got to their feet, shook their head again. Breathed in. Out. They needed to get out of these rooms. They needed something that would actually distract, itched for something that might feel the same. Unchanged.
Lythil. Their conversation at the party had been brief, but had not felt that different from their usual. She had never been one to dwell on anything. And they needed something, anything to put their mind off everything.
A brief glance to the window showed the sky was only beginning to lighten. Still, they could not stay in here any longer. They tried to take their time dressing, but it was not much later before they finally left the room behind them. They breathed easier for it already.
As expected, Lythil was awake when they were admitted by one of her servants. Surprisingly, she wasn't alone like last time, though judging by the sleepy smile her pet gave them it had been an effort on his part to match her erratic schedule.
“Apologies for the early hour, my lady.” They inclined their head towards them both, smiled. “I wanted to thank you for the pastries.”
“No worries, I've been up for a while.” She waved at them to sit across the two in the windowseat, and it felt good to be in this familiar place again. They realised as they did that she was not lying, both her and her pet’s plates already had some crumbs in it, so they clearly did not just roll out of bed. “What did you think of the treats? Were they to your liking?”
Even as she asked that, she turned to one of her servants with instructions to get another serving. Outside the window, the first rays of sunrise were breaking through the clear sky. They felt themself relax at the familiarity of it all.
“They were very nice, thank you again for sending them.” For a moment, they tried to remember their taste. It felt like too much had happened since they had eaten them. “Could have maybe been a bit sweeter.”
She chuckled, thanked the returning servant for bringing another cup and plate before responding, “That seems to be the argument in the kitchens, too.” Her pet poured them tea as she continued, “Some argue that they're not that sweet originally, so adding more sugar would make them less authentic.”
They raised a brow. Well, how sure were they of the original flavour, really? It had been so long. They argued, “It would, however, also make them more delicious.”
She grinned, pushed the plate with the pastries towards them. “I will let them know.”
They smiled, took one of them gratefully and bit into it. She did the same and they all settled into their usual idle chatter over breakfast.
They breathed easier for it, delighted at how, aside from them all being just a little more tired, it did all feel very different. The night they had shared was not an avoided topic, though none of them dwelled on it much. They regretted having soiled it by going to Mephistopheles right after, even if that had been the reason for them to agree to it. Lythil's pet insisted on showing them both the progress he had made on the painting he had been working on that night, and it was too late to linger long by then but they still chatted about it for a little while. It was nice.
They left their company in a bit of a hurry, and late for their next appointment, but feeling like they might actually make it through the day without breaking down. It had been worth it.
*
Raphael spent a lot of his day pondering whether he should skip the scheduled training later. The idea of Haarlep intruding again filled him with enough anger to wish to never return. And it was anger. That's what he had settled on calling it.
But on the other hand avoiding going back meant admitting defeat, too. Haarlep would know if — when — they returned to find him absent. Would it please them to have such power over him? Certainly. The thought of their satisfaction made him grind his teeth. He would not allow that to happen.
“Are you alright?” He blinked at the sound of the voice only to be met by a grin across the table. “Nervous about how it is looking less and less likely that you'll win?”
Raphael’s lips twitched into a not-quite-grin at the challenge. His opponent had taken so long to decide on his move he had completely spaced out waiting. At least it should be easy to make it look like he was simply returning the favour as he carefully studied the board in front of him. Unfortunately, his opposite’s assessment of the state of the game was not exaggerated. It was looking less and less likely for him to turn this around.
“We are playing by your rules.” It was not a defense, merely a reminder. Raphael had agreed to indulge this particular newcomer on this, confident that a slight change in playing style would make no difference for one as skilled as he. He might have underestimated his opponent.
Good. The only reason he had indulged this overconfident young lord was that, comfortable as he seemed at court, Raphael had caught more than one snide — if vague — comment suggesting a less favourable opinion on the duke so graciously hosting him. Raphael’s roundabout, very careful assessments on his father overstaying his welcome as the crown’s wearer had gotten his attention, too.
Neither of them had moved any further than mutual acknowledgement of aligning opinions. Raphael knew that he was relatively new to his title, but well-connected outside of court. He could be a valuable ally. If Raphael decided he seemed worth the effort.
So far, it did not seem too bad.
“I very nearly beat you playing by yours, too, though,” he hummed as Raphael finally chose his move. He could hear the grin in the other’s voice and returned it when settling back into his chair.
“Your use of the word nearly is rather liberal,” he countered, reaching for his glass. He was enjoying this. As long as he could keep his mind from wandering.
Which was another reason he felt disinclined on actually missing out on his training. He felt wrong. The fact that he had not had word for Vys — it was, admittedly, too early for her to already be back, but why had she not sent any updates? — was starting to grate on him as all talk around him still centered on the continuous critical territory loss. The enemy had not advanced any further since the initial outcry, but Raphael also knew that Mephistopheles had kept the situation secret for a while before revealing it, meaning that by this point, there should be news of regaining the borders, pushing the opponents back.
There were none. And despite nobody else really being aware of how much longer this had been going on, Raphael still sensed an impatience whenever dinner conversations shifted to the front, an anxiety for positive news, for a return to before.
It was all a little much. And he did not dare touch upon the more personal tensions keeping him so annoyingly distracted — Haarlep, their interference with the one thing Raphael had always felt was his, was safe.
He set his glass back down. He had a game to focus on.
The game ended up taking long enough that Raphael had to hurry after. The company had been pleasant to the end, and Raphael had won, which had earned him begrudging congratulations. They had talked little the whole time, but the tension between them had been heavy with the wish to do so. The fact that he had not been so careless as to attempt to speak of such delicate matters out in the open had left a positive impression on Raphael. He might actually make a worthy ally.
His feet brought him, as scheduled, to the training ground. Something about his victory had only reinforced his distaste at refusing to stick to his plans. He would not lose.
Still, he could not deny the real relief he felt at finding Baelun alone after changing into appropriate training attire. He knew it must show, for they greeted him with a raised brow. Raphael schooled his face into neutrality before closing the door behind him and walking to them.
It took little time before they started with their warm-up, and the familiarity of it all, the slight sting of muscles that had not recovered from last time, was nearly enough to put his mind off the fact that Haarlep had not been here at the beginning of the session yesterday, either. They had simply showed up halfway through, unannounced and quiet and Raphael didn't even know how long they had stood there. What they had seen. What they had hoped to see.
Or had they been sent under the assumption that Baelun and him actually discussed things of interest to Mephistopheles instead of fighting? Would they even return if that turned out to be wrong? Or would they be stubborn about it?
He was too slow, too distracted. Somehow, he had been nothing but lately. He could tell Baelun was beginning to reach the end of their generous patience, too.
Raphael didn't see it coming — he was glancing at the treacherous door, wondering if Baelun had the key to the lock — but hissed at the awkward twist of his wrist as Baelun’s sword pushed against his. His sword clattered to the floor as he failed to adjust his grip. Embarrassing. It had been years since this had happened.
Adding insult to his wounded pride, Baelun didn’t even continue their attack with him vulnerable. Raphael grit his teeth, balled his hands into fists. His wrist hurt. He did not look up from the sword on the floor until Baelun grunted to get his attention.
Look at the door instead of your opponent one more time and you’re leaving.
Even without their annoyance clearly etched into their face Raphael would’ve gotten a good idea at how done they were with him by the curt movements of their hands as they signed. Raphael cringed. There was no way to make excuses without sounding petulant. He was so tired.
He moved to pick up the sword. The hilt fit perfectly, comfortably into his hand. He had been using the same one for a long time. He knew how to hold it steady, no matter the onslaught.
A tap on his shoulder. Raphael hadn’t even realised Baelun had come close.
Who are they?
Raphael frowned, confused. Baelun pointed at the door in response, eye boring into his.
Door never distracted you before.
Their hands paused briefly before the last word, slowed despite their irritation. Raphael pressed his lips together, not entirely sure if they truly believed he needed this much emphasis to get what they were referring to, or if they were trying to be kind and help him save face by pretending that was the case. He disliked both options, and he hated even more that he was this easy to read on the matter.
“They’re nobody,” He grumbled, waving the subject away. They looked unimpressed, crossed their arms in front of their chest. The session would not continue until they had a satisfactory answer.
“What matters is that they aren’t here,” he tried anyway, knowing well that arguing with Baelun when they had run out of patience had similar effects to arguing with a solid brick wall.
As expected, they glared at him in response, raised a brow. Sometimes Raphael was still impressed at how intensely they could glare with just the one eye, how they managed to tower over him while being shorter. A resigned sigh left his lips.
“They’re one of Mephistopheles’ pets.” Their eye actually went a little wide in surprise, then they frowned, motioned for him to continue. As if that wasn’t reason enough to not want them here. “If they are to be believed, they keep intruding on me because they wish to. I do not believe them.”
Silence. He was unsure whether Baelun was expecting more, crossed his arms in front of his chest to signal that no further explanation was needed, as far as he was concerned.
Baelun shook their head, hands moving very slowly and pointedly as they signed, We do not talk here.
They were right. The agreement not to talk about what they both knew the other knew had been made early on. It had been a requirement to make this arrangement work.
Still, Raphael didn’t know whether Mephistopheles knew about it. Or Haarlep, for that matter. His reasoning was still valid.
Do you like them?
The question was so utterly out of nowhere Raphael nearly missed the brief twitch of the corner of their lips. They were fighting a grin. He bristled.
“Do I like them?”
Baelun shrugged. Trying to figure out why you actually don’t want them here.
“Would it not make more sense if I hated them in this context?”
You would not have let them stay if you did.
It was Raphael’s turn to frown. Of course they were right, though he wasn't sure why he'd feel this strongly about keeping somebody he liked out of here, either.
“I don't trust them. That is the real reason.” Raphael wanted this inane conversation to be over. “Can we not continue? I promise to focus.”
Maybe they just like you.
“How convenient that my father's most probable choice for a spy took a liking to the disobedient son, hm?”
Paranoid, was all they responded. There was a warning look in their eye. Raphael shook his head, got back into position.
“I'd rather err on the side of caution.” He motioned with his sword to theirs. “Now, if you please.”
With a sigh, Baelun complied. Raphael was relieved.
*
Unsurprisingly, they made it through their busy day with no problem. There had been little doubt in it despite their unfortunate morning. They had not come this far without iron self-control to keep their personal feelings at bay during day to day socialising.
Still, they left the last gathering unfathomably exhausted. Exhausted and tense and so very uncomfortable in their skin.
Sleep would not come if they'd turn to bed now, they knew that the moment they stepped through the threshold into their room. A devastating realisation for their tired body that wished for little else, feet sore from dancing, face tense from keeping that same smile on their unwilling lips throughout the day.
Briefly, they pondered their options. Annoyed that the first thing that came to mind to distract them was Raphael — even when what they needed distraction from was him — they resolutely stopped themself. A bath, maybe. A warm soak.
They changed their shape before leaving again. They had no patience to heat water in their room, nor any particular desire to currently be in here. Nor did they wish to be recognised on their way or in the public baths themselves. They just wished to be quiet and alone until enough tension had subsided for them to dare lie down in bed.
The form they took was perfectly inconspicuous, on the shorter side with perfectly average features otherwise. Nobody from court — they feared anyone might mistake them otherwise — but far from a stranger worth approaching. They already felt just a little more comfortable walking down the fire-lit halls.
It felt strange to walk this way just a day after last time. Usually they really did not come to this corner of court much. They tried not to think about what had made them do so the previous day. Nonetheless, they felt their shoulders tense more and more with each step. Sighing, they shook their head. They truly needed to get a grip.
It was late, so late that they had hoped to find the baths mostly vacant. They were not. Not a single inch of any of the public buildings at court seemed to ever be empty since the duke’s announcement. Half of these people didn’t even know what they hoped to get here, weren’t anywhere close to the battle to excuse the fleeing. It baffled them, and it also frustrated them because that was not what Mephistopheles wished to hear during their reports.
They stood by the doors a long moment. Their feet ached even worse now, and they would not go back all the way without at least giving it a try, voices coming from within be damned. At least there didn’t seem to be as many voices as yesterday.
Finally, they stepped through the door, immediate relief filling them at the warmth in the air. It wasn’t cold outside — nor within the hallways — but still the hot, humid air soothed them. Good. Then a bath would hopefully do what they needed.
Once undressed, they moved into the room with the pools. They had only been here once or twice, early after Lythil’s move, and always accompanied by her, but the layout was not so complicated that they’d feel particularly lost. A quick glance at the entrance showed them that most of the people still present were in the big pool to the south, only a handful spread out over the smaller ones. Many were, in fact, empty, and they made a beeline for one of those. Not too far off to rouse suspicion, but far away from the chatting to find some peace, hopefully.
Sinking in was a little painful — maybe people had crowded to the pools on the other side because those were more temperate? — but once they submerged themself to the shoulders it really wasn’t too bad. Their body acclimated to the heat quickly, muscles all too happy to loosen up under it. They spread out their wings with a satisfied sigh, just briefly, relishing the sting of sore muscles in their back moving before they sat down on the little step that kept little more than their head and the top of their shoulders out of the hot water. Compared to it, the moisture-filled air seemed nearly cool, sending a pleasant shiver through them. They closed their eyes, and leaned back, and tried to think of nothing but the feeling of the water against their skin.
They did not know how long they had sat there, unmoving, forcibly relaxing, before they heard steps approach. A frown spread on their face. It was too early to leave, they still felt wrong. But they could not bear the idea of company. It was taking them everything to keep their face neutral. After all, they were still in public, even if their face wasn’t theirs. A stranger looking distressed might still alert somebody to them.
Maybe the steps weren’t actually approaching them. Many of the other pools were still empty, some in their vague direction. From the sounds of it, a lot might be empty by now. When had the voices grown so quiet?
Unfortunately, they sensed the steps ceasing right next to their head. With a sigh, they opened their eyes.
And froze. Lythil’s pet was smiling down at them, recognition clear enough in his eyes that they knew there was no point in pretending.
“Hello,” he said quietly. “Do you wish to be alone?”
Yes. They shook their head, sat up with a sigh. They still felt so sore. The sensation went much deeper than muscle. “What gave it away?”
They sounded sore, somehow. Clearing their throat would do nothing to remedy that, but they did it anyway, pretending the flat tone had come from disuse.
He sat down next to them with a hiss, and they remembered briefly how hot the water was. Right. It barely felt hot enough by now, their body still too tense.
“May I speak plainly?” he asked, and that, at least, made their eyebrow quirk up. What was that supposed to mean?
They nodded.
“You looked miserable when you came to us this morning, and you still do. A different face cannot hide that,” He spoke so gently. From anyone else, it would have been a devastating insult to their skills.
It still was, in a way. They pressed their lips into a thin line, entirely unhappy that they had failed so spectacularly at keeping their expression controlled. It was even worse than they thought. What if they had failed during the day, too, and anyone had seen? They would not charm any information out of anyone looking gloomy. They had to work on it.
Why did it seem so very impossible to get a grip as of late?
“Hey.” Again, his too-gentle voice, and they barely dared to raise their eyes because they felt like they might cry. “Come here.”
He pulled them closer, touch light enough to escape, but they let him. What was the point? Clearly, they had failed hiding just how upset they were.
“Relax. I won’t ask you to talk, that’s not what I came here for,” he mumbled, running a hand over their short hair.
It was a relief to hear. They would not have known what to say, anyway. It was simply too much.
They realised their shoulders were trembling, and hid their face in his chest as the first tears threatened to spill over. It was impossible to stop them once they started falling. They bit their lip to at least keep quiet, though they knew he knew, even with their face hidden. Why could they not keep themself from crying since the whip? It used to be so easy. They had kept stony through worse, and now they seemed to just cry in front of anybody at any time. It was ridiculous.
He said nothing, did not pull them closer or try to calm them, sitting quietly instead, one hand loosely on their shoulder, the other stroking idly over their hair, their back. And as it became clear that he would not push any further than this, they began to relax, drew in a shaky breath that only made more tears spill over.
He said nothing, and they cried quietly against him. It felt like relief.
Notes:
I hope you all had a lovely start into the -ber season of the year <3
I will admit I did not in fact work on this wip at all lol, BUT i did plan out the little intermezzo that'll be connecting this and part 2, so. small successes. i'm sure i'll get around to actually writing it, too. someday.
i did mostly finish part 1! 11 chapters to go, and only the very last one is missing a scene or two :) <3
Chapter Text
The next time Raphael returned to Baelun a couple days later, he went less reluctantly. He had not felt that much better after last time, but since there had been no unwanted audience, he only had himself to blame. And maybe Baelun for being a little too nosy.
Raphael had not lingered on their questions — their insistence on Haarlep’s presence being a coincidence. An insulting suggestion, and not one worth his time.
He had, however, come to the conclusion that it was inevitable that they'd come back to intrude. They had kept their distance as of late, not even catching his eyes when they were at the same gathering. If they had come to knock on his door it must have been while he had been absent. Raphael had not spent much time in his chambers lately.
Still, he was sure they'd return here, if only because he had been stupid enough to show how much it bothered him. They liked bothering him.
The question left was what he would do next time. Surely not make a fool of himself again. No, after consideration he had come to the conclusion that the best way to deal with this was to try and ignore them once they showed up again. Simply pretend they weren’t there. Maybe they’d get bored and leave.
His commitment to that plan faltered as he heard a voice when approaching the door to the room Baelun was waiting in. Haarlep’s.
Teeth set, he opened the door. He just needed to pretend they were just another onlooker, like back when Baelun insisted on him training with some of the other students.
They were talking to the old swordmaster — or rather at them, for Baelun seemed to be listening and nodding along only. It didn't seem to matter much, as Baelun was visibly pleased by the attention, a small smile on their lips, their whole face attentive. Raphael bit back a groan. If there had been any chance of convincing them to kick Haarlep out it had evaporated now. They were charmed.
The door closed, and both of them looked up at the noise, Baelun nodding in greeting and Haarlep giving him a brief smile. Raphael frowned at how quickly it disappeared.
More surprising was that they didn't say anything. No teasing comment, no sharp taunt. They simply turned back to Baelun with a nod and a thank you before moving to the bench at the edge of the room, where the water fountain was. Raphael did not miss how their eyes were on Baelun when they sat down, expectant.
Raphael turned to Baelun with a raised eyebrow, but they only threw him his sword and motioned for him to get ready. So he did.
He had braced himself for that same sense of being watched as last time, of feeling eyes following his every movement across the room, every swing of his sword. The feeling never came.
The brief glimpses Raphael dared to throw Haarlep’s way — and they were brief, and infrequent, because he was still determined to ignore them and did not wish to anger Baelun again — made it clear why he felt much less observed than last time. They were not looking at him.
Despite himself, he bristled at the realisation. He tried to hide his displeasure, but the corner of Baelun’s mouth quirked up, their eyebrows rose briefly. Whatever had flashed over Raphael’s face had not gone unnoticed, and was apparently amusing.
He set his jaw and focused on his opponent. Fine. This should make it easier to ignore them.
It was not. Raphael could not help the anger at their audacity. To come here and then not even pay attention to him? After admitting so readily he had been the thing that drew them here last time?
Now their eyes were glued to Baelun. Not that Raphael was looking.
By the time they took a break, Raphael was quietly fuming at the insult, but decided to return the favour by pretending they weren’t there. Their voice seemed particularly irritating as they started asking Baelun about technique. As if they suddenly cared.
“Raphael?”
He froze, grit his teeth. Took lengths to school his features into indifference before turning towards them. They wanted his attention after ignoring him the whole time?
They weren't even looking at him, only waving for him to get closer. “Would you be so kind to help with translating? My lip reading skills are a little rusty, it'd be faster.” Now they did turn to him, but their face lost the animation their voice had carried talking to Baelun. Their expression looked wrong like this. “I don’t want to hold you up.”
For a brief moment, Raphael wondered if he couldn’t simply throw the bottle of water in his hand at their face and leave. It would, unfortunately, not be a particularly dignified exit, so instead he sighed, nodded, and tried not to look furiously irritated at being forced to be part of the conversation without actually participating in it. Baelun’s expression made it clear that he was, once again, not succeeding, so he just openly glared at them in return.
Once back to fighting, Raphael was at least relieved at not having to hear them talk past him, but still too aware of their presence to truly forget about them. It was him who eventually called it quits, despite feeling worse than when they had started. He left only with a brief goodbye to Baelun, feeling like he had, in fact, just wasted hours of his precious time. If this was how things were going to be, there was no point — not even pride — in forcing himself to come here again.
*
The party they had attended after dinner had come to a premature end, and they could not deny their relief at it. The company had been lovely and they had enjoyed especially playing their flute with a couple others who had decided the gathering could do with a little music. They missed playing, but there just wasn't time lately. So the excuse to do so had been welcome.
Still, they were tired. So the fact that they were already back in their room, hair undone for the night and in their robe, water heating up over the fire as they gave their poor neglected instrument a much-needed clean, was much appreciated. It had been a long day. They all were.
They hadn't seen Raphael all day. Not that it mattered. After their little breakdown they had decided to ignore him. All things considering, they thought they were doing a good job.
But they weren't enjoying it. At least when they had done so in the privacy of the training room they had been able to take in his annoyed expression when he wasn’t looking. In public he kept his face neutral. It irked them that they could not approach and try to change that.
They missed him. Raphael was too much fun to talk to and they missed how easily their sharp tongues had played off each other. Missed his idle touches. Missed, too, how he would come apart once he yielded to their attentions, so consumed by his own pleasure he sometimes looked half-surprised to find them there after.
The memory put a small grin on their lips. They wondered if he’d open his door for them if they’d go and knock. His pride was probably too wounded for it. And really, it would undermine the point they were trying to make. They were still angry.
A strange noise pulled them out of their pondering, their eyes immediately going to the water. It wasn’t boiling yet, but it would be soon and they should probably get the tealeaves ready. But what had been the noise then?
They frowned, listened. Were those steps? It was faint through the door, irregular, but it did sound like steps. Who? Even with court’s swollen population, nobody ever came this way. There was nothing here but their apartment.
Were those steps coming closer? They sounded strangely shuffling, like the person might have had a glass or two too many tonight. Had there been a party in the main building tonight? They couldn’t remember, but it would be the only possible explanation for this. It wouldn’t even be a good one, for all the rooms occasionally used for such events were on the opposite side from theirs.
A dull crash had them on their feet, flute nearly falling out of their hands. They set it down carefully, moved towards the door. Held their breath to listen. Silence.
Curiosity and concern made them open the door, step outside before they had quite decided on what they intended to do. It was not quiet out here, heavy, wet breathing near-echoing in the grand hallway. The noise drew their eyes quickly to a crumpled figure struggling to pull themself up against the wall not too far from their door.
And then they froze. “Raphael?”
No reaction, but they had no doubt about who the trembling, wheezing figure on the floor was. The name had been an exclamation of shock.
They closed the distance in a few quick steps, knelt down beside him. A hand on his back to steady him made them realise he had completely sweated through his shirt in his efforts, his body trembling with every desperate, too-quick inhale.
“What's wrong? What happened?”
The surprise in his eyes would've been hilarious were it not near-buried beneath panic when he turned to look at them. He made an effort to speak, but seemed unable to properly move his tongue — did it look swollen? — and ended up coughing instead, wheezing for breath.
They shook their head in wordless apology and heaved him to his feet, wrapping one arm around his middle to steady him before leading him towards their door. Raphael tensed, but was clearly too preoccupied with trying to breathe to fight their lead.
“We're close to my rooms,” was their only explanation as they hurried their step, greatly disliking the strange wet rattling in Raphael’s frantic breaths.
Through the door, they deposited him into the chair right by the entry, brushed sweat-soaked hair out of his forehead. His skin was too hot, flushed. They needed to figure out what was going on.
“Did you swallow something? Is it stuck?”
He looked irritated as he nodded, then shook his head, tried again to form words with no success but wetting his lips.
They frowned in confusion at his responses, but dared not waste time. If he had swallowed something he shouldn't have, it needed to come back out. And if it wasn't stuck, they only had one option. They squeezed his hand. “I'll be right back.”
They disappeared into the other room, moved quickly from the shelf to the overboiling water in the living area before hurrying back to Raphael with a steaming cup in their hand. He was clawing at the fabric at his throat, had already ripped off two buttons so there was no way it was actually too tight.
“Raphael,” they cupped the back of his head, caught his eyes, “Drink this. Just do,” they added more insistently when seeing the beginnings of doubt flicker over his face as they held the cup to his trembling lips. They had mixed in cold water, so it should not be too hot.
Unsurprisingly, he managed to get very little of it down, even with their help, tears springing into his eyes as he fought the coughing fit until he jerkily leaned forward to succumb to it. He coughed and retched and pulled at the already loose collar of his shirt, and they could do little except rub his back and keep his hair out of his face. If he had swallowed enough this would only get worse.
The fit subsided, and they helped him sit up again, stroked his cheek. He was so hot. They disappeared again, coming back with a cool, wet towel in a bucket this time. The glassy look of Raphael’s eyes as he took it from their hands worried them.
At least he seemed to appreciate the cloth as he tremblingly wiped his face, pressed it to his neck. Itching to be helpful in some way as they waited, they decided to unbutton the rest of his shirt. It would not help, but maybe having the fabric gone would soothe the panic. Though he looked more exhausted than panicked by now, his breathing shallower and not any less laboured.
And then his bloodshot eyes went wide and he quickly leaned forward again in yet another violent coughing fit. He frantically reached for the bucket as he began dry heaving and they settled beside him, relieved that it had worked and dreading what'd come next.
It felt like hours passed of him trying to get whatever was within his stomach out, and they wondered if it was maybe already too late, if too much of it had already gotten in his bloodstream because he simply wasn't breathing any easier. Their lips were a tight line as they rubbed his back, stroked his hair.
And then, at last, he seemed done. Or at least too exhausted to keep going. Hard as he was breathing over the bucket, they thought it seemed a bit deeper, a bit easier.
Again, they helped him sit up slowly once he started moving again, and Raphael wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, turned to them with surprising speed.
“Poison,” he wheezed, and there was such sharp accusation in his gaze they bristled.
“I wasn't even wherever you came from. Otherwise I wouldn't be here.” They crossed their arms before their chest. “And neither would you, I might add.”
“And yet you conveniently had an antidote on hand.” Despite the effort it was taking him to speak, despite the hoarseness of his voice, his tone was insistent. They had half a mind to kick him out for the insolence. They had just saved his life.
“That was no antidote. Simply a herb that adds a very pleasant earthy note to my perfume.” They kept their voice pointedly cool, “One I was warned many a time not to ingest, despite it looking very similar to a popular tea herb. It tends to make you empty your stomach rather quickly.” To themself, they grumbled, “Last of what I had, too. It's not been easy to come by as of late.”
Raphael stared at them, “Your…perfume?”
“I like making it myself. An old master of mine…it was her trade, and she taught me a little bit.”
A long silence fell in which he finally took the time to properly catch his breath, relaxed a little at hopefully realising they hadn't tried to kill him only to save him moments later. Or maybe he was simply too tired to interrogate them further. He looked pale, hands still trembling, face lax in exhaustion.
Eventually, he cleared his throat. “Well, then. Thank you, I guess.” To their horror, he tried to get up, “I should leave—”
They pushed him down by his shoulders. “Nonsense! You look like you're about to pass out.”
He tried to push their hands off but lacked the strength, grimaced, “I need to wash—”
“You can do that here. There's a little bit of hot water left from the…not-tea. You can use it.” They held out their hand to help him up. “In the meantime I'll make some actual tea. You need to drink.”
He stared at their hand for a long moment, before giving up, shoulders slumping with a sigh before he reached out to take it. They led him to the washroom and left him alone with the rest of the hot water before moving to heat up some more.
It was in the process of doing so that the situation really settled in. They had not attempted to kill Raphael, but somebody had. Here. In his very home.
It didn’t seem real. Who could possibly benefit from killing him? Who was bold enough to try?
It baffled them, and maybe it scared them a little, too. They prepared the tea, and put everything on a tray, and it felt strange. But what else was there to do?
Raphael’s shuffling steps reached their ears. “There’s a nightgown on the bed, if you want to put something on.”
Should they ask him if he was alright? Could he possibly be?
They only got a quiet hum in acknowledgement of their words, so they turned around to see if he had decided to take them up on the offer — and whether he needed assistance with the gown. He was in the process of slipping it on, seemingly not struggling with it at all. Was that a good sign?
At least he looked a little better, if very, very tired as he looked around, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. They had to smile. “Get comfortable, I’ll bring the tea.”
He nodded, and there was definitely a slowness to his movements as he climbed into the bed that suggested he was not, in fact, alright. Exhausted, at the very least.
They brought the tray over and joined him on the bed. Raphael was still adjusting the pillows he was sitting against with a mildly annoyed expression. He seemed remarkably unbothered by nearly dying.
After he had finally settled, they pushed the steaming cup into his hands. He threw them a glance and sniffed the cup carefully. They tried not to roll their eyes, and took a sip of their own cup.
He copied them at last, and the sigh leaving his lips after was one of relief. They had made it strong enough to help with the unpleasant flavour he must have been left with in his mouth. Still, his eyes wandered over the room.
“Your rooms are very…interesting,”
The comment was so banal after everything, they huffed a laugh. “It came like this, for the most part.” They shrugged. “I decided to embrace its…uniqueness.”
Raphael nodded, though he seemed too engrossed in taking everything in to actually be listening. Something on the ceiling seemed to have caught his attention, and then he was looking up at the wall behind him.
“I feel like I've never seen some of these plants.”
They followed his gaze, surprised that he’d notice. It had taken them a while themself to realise what they had done since they had planned out very little when working on the wall. “I used to live in a more humid place where there was a lot more lush greenery around.” It felt so strange to mention it. They never talked about it. They shrugged and blew into their steaming cup. “I guess I miss it sometimes, so I painted it.”
“You painted this?” Raphael’s frown deepened, as he turned a little to get a better look at the wall.
His tone was disbelieving rather than impressed. They only took some offense to it, voice even, “The wallpaper options seemed a little dull for me.”
“You daw, you paint, you apparently make your own scents…” He took a long sip of his tea, watched them from the corner of his eye. “You play.”
Ah, that sounded nearly like an insult. How quickly he returned to being his irritating self.
“You never know what skill might help you get further in life,” they said sweetly, “And I've always been curious.”
“Have you also always been so annoying?”
They rolled their eyes. “No, I acquired that skill specifically for you, princess.”
Raphael grimaced at the petname and focused on his tea. They did the same, grateful for the grounding warmth it offered. Silence settled for a little while as they drank and Raphael continued looking around critically. They watched him closely for signs of distress or discomfort, but there were none.
“How are you feeling?” They eventually asked, feeling strangely vulnerable doing so.
“Still dizzy, a headache, my throat hurts…but I can breathe.” He sighed, and maybe there was something like gratitude in his words when he added, “Better.”
“And do you…have any idea who might have…?”
“Oh, I have many ideas,” he gritted his teeth, suddenly seething. “But what's the point in dwelling on them? I'll simply avoid most food and drink at these gatherings in the future.”
It was difficult to believe when he struggled to keep the anger out of his voice. But in his eyes they found something like resignation.
“That's…it? Shouldn't you tell somebody?” they pressed, disbelieving. They groped for anyone that might be able to do something about it. “Your father?”
“‘It would be a waste of time and resources trying to find an assassin who isn't particularly good at their job.’”
They frowned, “What?”
Raphael sighed. “That's what he said. The first time this happened.”
They were stunned into silence for a moment, “This…happened before?”
“Not exactly like this.” He shrugged. “But there have been attempts on my life before. Misguided souls believing they might hurt the duke by removing me. Maybe more personal vendettas. I never found out, it's not exactly easy to investigate subtly.”
“That's why you're not panicking…” they mumbled, still shocked.
He snorted. “You insult me by suggesting I'd panic. I let you know I handled the first attempt with appropriate dignity and cool-headedness.”
They couldn't help the grin pulling at their lips. “I choose not to believe you.”
“You'll never learn otherwise.” With a sigh, he finished his tea and set the cup down. “I'm tired, Haarlep.”
They nodded. He should rest, and they doubted there was much to add to this conversation anyway.
“Alright,” they hummed, got off the bed to remove the tray with the tea.
It felt good to move, to do something so mundane in the face of everything that had happened tonight. That they had just heard. Maybe Raphael’s paranoia wasn't entirely unfounded. Maybe their master was more calloused than they had believed.
They returned to the bed after tidying, slid out of their robe first. Raphael had gotten comfortable while they had been putting their things away, was looking up at them sleepily.
“That's a lovely robe…” He mumbled.
They threw him a surprised glance before setting it aside. “Thank you.”
They joined him under the covers and loosely wrapped him in their arms. Both sighed, and they wondered if he had missed this half as much as they had.
Tails and legs tangling, neither of them had to wait long for exhaustion to take them.
*
Raphael woke with the first rays of sunshine due to the sheer fabric of the curtains. The moment of confusion about where he was was very brief, last evening still very prominent in the slight ache of his head, the soreness of his throat.
He was on his back, which was a rare position to wake up in, though he could feel the tangle of legs and limbs that suggested it had probably been as restless a night as usual. He sighed.
Turning his head met him with the back of Haarlep’s head. They had pulled up their hair and locked it in place at the top of their pillow with their arm. Raphael had noticed they did this relatively often in sleep and wondered if they got too hot. He didn't know why else they kept trying to free the neck from thick hair. It probably got quite warm underneath.
He watched the truly ridiculous amount of babyhairs at the base of their skull, the trail of hair down their neck from there. He missed touching it.
For fear that he might do so and wake them, he looked up instead. It was a little startling to not have the bed's canopy above him but instead the very high ceiling of the bedroom. He didn't like the feeling at all, felt strangely exposed to the room without the customary curtains shielding the bed from it.
Odd. It had never occurred to him that he might have a strong opinion on this, but he couldn't remember the last night he had spent out of his own perfect bed. He guessed he knew why he didn't do it now.
The wall at his head was still impressive, at least, enough so to distract him from his strange discomfort. The idea of them having painted it seemed impossible, and Raphael would have dismissed it as a lie would it not look very much like it had just recently been created. How long had this taken? And why had they done it in the first place? They barely spent time in here.
He closed his eyes and sank back into the pillow. So many thoughts spared for them this morning. He should stop stalling thinking about last night.
Because it had been a little too close for his liking. A very harsh reminder that he had started letting his guard down, had become careless. Too focused, maybe, on the one spy when court was buzzing with people and everyone could be a possible threat. Stupid of him to act as if that weren't the case. Had the last attempt not also used court being in disarray to discreetly try to get rid of him? Had he forgotten? Raphael desperately needed to stop being so distracted or he wouldn't even make it until Vys’ return and her — hopefully good — news. He wanted to hear about his impending victory and he wanted to make that crown his and finally unlock the full potential of his powers. He would not perish to some petty attempt on his life. He refused.
They were stirring beside him, a soft groan accompanying their slow turning around to face him. “You're thinking too loudly,” they grumbled, “I'm trying to sleep?”
Raphael frowned. He had not been speaking his thoughts out loud had he? He thought he had long defeated that pesky habit. “What?”
“Stop it. Your full body is tensing up.” They ran a hand down his chest deliberately. “It's so early, Raphael. Relax.”
Despite their words coming half-slurred with sleep, he could guess their real exasperation in their use of his name instead of one of their many teasing nicknames. He tried to look at them, but they had pressed their face into his shoulder with a sigh.
“I was poisoned yesterday,” he pointed out, irritated.
“And you survived to be your tight-strung self today,” they mocked, running their claws idly through the hairs on his belly. “But today has barely started, so please postpone it for a little longer. I had a long night.”
He shuddered at their touch. “I should leave.”
Haarlep threw one leg over his hip, pulling him closer. “You shan't. I have eaten your breakfast many times and I insist you let me share mine with you for a change.” With a yawn, they added, “But not yet. Please. Just a little longer.”
Trapped as he was, Raphael resigned himself to his fate and relaxed. Somewhere, he felt the tip of their tail wander the length of his calf, never quite touching skin but catching some of the hairs on its way. He did not entirely succeed in quelling all the twitches this elicited from him, and had he not been so focused on trying he might have pointed out how unusually insufferable they were being for one asleep.
Breakfast arrived, but Haarlep bid him to stay in bed when they got up to presumably go and eat. His frown only got him a grin before they disappeared into the other room. They returned little later with last night’s tray and breakfast set out upon it, brought it to bed.
Raphael watched them in disbelief, which seemed to amuse them. “What? Do you not enjoy a lazy breakfast in bed? It sounds just right for a spoiled little princess such as you.”
He reached for the cup of tea on his side of the tray. Maybe if he simply ignored the petname they’d grow bored? He grit his teeth. “I dislike crumbs in my bed, mostly.”
“Well, beloved, I know last night might have left you disoriented, but this is my bed. And I can simply get it changed.” They bit into some flaky pastry, as if to make a point, eyes never leaving him. After they finished chewing, they licked the powdered sugar off their lips with unnecessary sensuousness. “So. Do not be shy, and indulge in my humble feast. You’re probably starved after yesterday.”
They weren’t wrong, but he had no intention of gorging himself, his stomach still not feeling entirely right. He plucked one of the thick, dark grapes from its stem and put it in his mouth, chewing carefully. It seemed exceptionally sweet on his bitter tongue and he smiled.
To Haarlep’s credit, they did not continue their questioning from the night before despite undoubtedly being curious. However, the topic they chose instead to chat over breakfast pleased Raphael not at all. “So, when will you return to your training? Baelun and I waited for a good half hour last time.”
It irked them to hear them speaking like their presence was natural in that context. “Whenever you stop intruding on what is none of your business.”
“They said you never talk much. What harm can it be for me to watch you?” They sighed, pointedly dreamy. “You’re quite the sight fighting, you know. So intense. Skin all shiny with sweat, and eyes all bright and focused…”
“You weren’t even looking last time!”
“Ah, did that sting? Good.” They licked the sugar off their fingertips. “If I promise to have eyes only for you next time and not miss a single move, will you come?”
“No. I want you gone from that room, you do not belong there.” He broke off some bread and chewed slowly, ignoring their gaze. “If you wish to learn yourself, ask the swordmaster. You seem to be fast friends, the way you speak of them.”
Haarlep chuckled. “My charms are simply impossible to resist.” They sighed, drank some tea. “And I told you, I have no desire to learn the art myself. I enjoyed watching.”
“Ask them for other classes you can sit in on.”
“I wish to watch you,” they insisted stubbornly.
But Raphael was if not worse, than at least equally stubborn. “Which you did not do last time, so said wish cannot be that strong.” He set his cup down and turned to look at them. “Meaning that what you actually want is to irritate me, which you already do plenty outside of my training. I do not want you there, and I shan’t return while you wait for an opportunity to humiliate me.”
They frowned. “Humiliate you? Now you exaggerate—”
“Was that not your intention when you pretended I was but air last time?” They said nothing, which was all the response he needed. “I thought so.” With a sigh, he got up from bed. “Thank you for the breakfast. I shall take my leave now.”
Haarlep was eerily quiet as he dressed himself, and he had nothing to add. He was tired of this.
They did slide out of bed and into their deep green robe to accompany him to the door. Raphael forced himself to meet their eye. “Thank you. For…yesterday.”
They nodded, and for a moment they stood looking at each other. Raphael wondered if they'd kiss him, but they simply opened the door for him.
“Be careful.”
He nodded, and left.
Chapter 16
Notes:
coming to you a year older, with a new job and freezing my ass off in my cold af fuck room with the last upload before a long-awaited holiday~
Chapter Text
Something like a truce was found after that night. Haarlep stopped pretending that he didn't exist, and Raphael returned the curtsey, keeping things civil without making it overly friendly. The flashes of concern in their eyes he kept glimpsing at gatherings they both happened to be attending was irritating enough. He did not wish to give them an opening for any more of such nonsense.
They were probably the only one to notice that Raphael kept eating and drinking at social events to a minimum, too. He didn't like that much. Why had he even told them about it? As if it hadn’t been humiliating enough to let them see him so weak in the first place.
Despite everything, Raphael tried to go about his days as if nothing had happened. Unsurprisingly, he had little success. As much as he liked to pretend he could nonchalantly shrug the attempt and all its implications off, he could not. It had never really worked. He felt the urge to identify the culprit, to confront them. Had it been personal? Did somebody know anything about his carefully guarded plan and wished to stop it?
Raphael knew he would not find out, at least not while he was trying to stay out of Mephistopheles’ sight. Asking questions would draw unwanted attention, and trying to simply guess which of the many guests from the gathering it had happened at had done it purely by the little he knew of each one was a great way to drive himself crazy.
It all left him more tight-strung than ever, and Raphael craved putting some of it into fighting, itching for a sword in his hand to steady his occasional tremble in it.
He refused to go back on his word. He wasn’t even that tempted. His safety — and pride — were compromised, and he would damn well cling to what he had left of both. Which, to him, included getting his way in not having an audience during his training sessions. He didn’t care if they were quiet, or if Haarlep was there to appreciate him, he wanted — needed — to be alone with Baelun, unwatched and undisturbed, trying to uncoil some of the tension that had been drawing more and more taunt with every passing day.
But he would not go back on his word. And so, more often than not, without training to go to and no gatherings to attend that would not make his sudden distaste for all food and drink a little too obvious, Raphael found himself with some free time again. He’d often find ways to fill it, caught up with acquaintances and his correspondences, went outside if only to not end up walking circles in his own rooms as his thoughts spiralled. There had still been no news from Vys. He tried not to think too much of it, but he was not the only one anxiously waiting, either. Stagnation had always been the worst part about all of this.
It was during one of those spirals that he caught sight of the book on the coffee table. It was still the same one he had attempted to start before Vys had left weeks ago — and he had tried to read it many a time since, but simply kept getting interrupted. Maybe it would function as decompression, the satisfaction of finally getting beyond the first couple sentences, to lose himself in the pages at last. He had ordered coffee earlier and not finished it yet, had kept it on the dining table on the flame it had come with to keep it warm.
The more Raphael thought about it, the more he liked the idea. It was truly ridiculous how long he had been wanting to read this book. Only the sheer amount of times he had been interrupted doing so in one way or another compared in ridiculousness. It made him a little angry to think about it. Just another thing to frustrate him. He would get it out of the way at once.
Raphael moved the coffee and his cup to the low table in front of the fireplace and took a seat before pouring himself a cup. There was no fire going, both windows bracketing the portrait open to a mild afternoon outside. He drank a sip, and sighed as he put the cup back down, getting comfortable in his seat before picking up the book.
The first sentence seemed nearly annoyingly familiar from his previous failed attempts to read it. The knock that reached his ears halfway through the second had to be imaginary, a memory of the many previous times he had been interrupted. Not today.
The knocking persisted. Raphael refused to give up on his reading even as his grip tightened on the book, his teeth grinding together at each irritating attempt to get his attention. No. He would have the afternoon to himself, and he would read this book.
“Raphael? I know you’re in there!”
Haarlep. Of course. Who else would be this annoyingly insistent?
With a frustrated noise, Raphael threw the book back onto the table, knowing full well that he had not retained a word of the first page he had stubbornly read. On his feet, he forced himself to walk slowly and evenly to the door instead of making his ire known.
The door he did open too forcefully, and all attempts at dignity flew out the window as he nearly yelled, “What do you want?”
They looked startled, blinked at him in speechlessness. Raphael was too mad to appreciate the moment, and it passed quickly as they caught themself. “My, whatever happened to leave you in a mood even worse than your usual?”
Their teasing was grating on his strained nerves. “What happened is that I have been trying to read that book for weeks, and keep being interrupted, at least twice now by you!” He bit his lip, trying to calm himself. He was speaking too loudly at his open door.
It amused them greatly. “Princess, calm down. You are clearly quite stressed.” He tensed when they put their hand on his shoulder, took a step into the room and then loosened the vice grip Raphael had on the doorknob to shut the door behind them both. “Why not go for a bath, hm?” Their finger danced lightly over his jaw, touch surprisingly gentle considering their tone suggested pleasure at Raphael’s distress. “It’s a lovely afternoon outside, we could open the balcony doors to the bath and have a relaxing soak. And you could read to me. Or to yourself I guess, but I did ask you a while ago to read to me.” They tipped his chin back a little, looked into his eyes with a grin toeing the line of mockery. “Does that sound good?”
Raphael was struggling to make sense of both words and tone, the expression on their face not really going with either. He frowned, confused, pondering their request. “Did you come here to avail yourself of my bath?” He shook his head, swatting their hand away from his chin, “The public baths are at your disposal—”
“They are also horrendously crowded lately, and none of the company there is as…titillating as that of my favourite little princess.”
The speed at which they responded made him think they had expected this reaction and prepared accordingly. He was too tired for this.
“I’ve told you to stop calling me that.” Raphael’s retort sounded weak, even to himself.
“Little brat, then,” they winked, took Raphael’s hand and led him to the abandoned book by the fireplace, took it and pressed it into Raphael’s free hand. “I promise I will be a very attentive audience.”
They sounded pointedly sincere, and Raphael was at a loss about whether they were mocking him or not. Maybe it was a reference to his distaste of them playing audience during his training sessions.
When they moved towards the bath, Raphael went along. By this point, he did feel like he needed a soak to calm down.
They did as Haarlep had suggested and opened the double doors to the balcony. Sunlight flooded the room on that side, and Raphael was once again reminded of how he had never wished those windows to be tinted. This is how it should have always been.
He set the book aside, far enough for it to not get wet, before joining Haarlep in the water. A sigh escaped his lips as he felt some of the tension in his back give way in the water's heat. Yes, this was a good idea. Even if he had had no intention of sharing his free afternoon with anyone. At least Haarlep was quiet beside him. Raphael closed his eyes and sank deeper into the water.
Peace did not last very long. When did it ever, with them?
“Come sit in my lap,” their honeyed voice came from beside him, their claws lightly brushing against skin as they tucked some escaped strands of hair behind his ear.
“I will do no such thing,” he did not open his eyes to speak, nor did he keep the disdain out of his voice when answering.
With an exaggerated sigh, he felt their weight settle in his lap. “Then I'll suit myself.”
He did not grace them with a response, eyes still closed, wings comfortably stretched out behind him. When they put his hand on their hip, bracing themself against his arm, he let them. It wasn’t necessarily unpleasant to have them sit like this.
Their fingers, too, felt nice when they started drawing idle patterns on his chest, the claws running through the wet hairs drawing shivers from him. For a little while, they sat in blissful silence.
“You're very touchy today,” he mumbled as their head came to rest against his shoulder.
“You don't like it?” They didn't sound like they cared about his response.
He sighed. “I don't care.”
“Often my masters cared about nothing else,” they mumbled after a break.
“Well, I am not your master.” Raphael shifted where he was sitting. “And neither am I your mattress. Let me sit up, it's getting too hot.”
They did so with great distaste, and Rapael pushed himself out of the bath to sit on its edge, legs dangling into the water. The slight warm breeze from the open doors at his back made him shiver most pleasantly.
He had barely settled before they put their crossed arms on his thigh, propped their head up on them to look up at him through those pretty, perfectly curved lashes of theirs. “Will you read to me now?”
He could detect none of the expected mockery in them. “Do you really want me to?”
“I know you love the sound of your voice at least as much as I do.” They winked. “Do us both a favour, hm?”
With a sigh, Raphael did. He had left the book close enough to grab it, even with them weighing him down. He read the mockingly familiar first sentence, and more, relaxing a little after it became clear that Haarlep would let him do so.
He had expected this to be just another way they’d try to irritate him. Instead, Haarlep kept quiet, closed their eyes. Their fingers danced idly on the inside of his thigh, but the occasional hitch of his breath did not stir them from their focused listening. How odd to see them pass on such an obvious opportunity to tease.
It was Raphael who ended up distracting himself from reading by watching them closely. They were at ease. He realised he had never really seen them like this, no grin on their lips — not even a suggestive smile — fingers moving with no purpose, eyes shut even after Raphael had stopped reading. They looked tired, but content. Beautiful.
Raphael frowned, reached out to disentangle an escaped lock of long, black hair from one of their horns. “You’re really enjoying this.”
It wasn’t a question, but an observation, a voicing of his surprise at it. A distraction, even if he could not help appreciating the way their eyes fluttered open, how they tilted their head just so to look up at him. “Did you not like being read to as a child?”
Raphael raised a brow. “Does Mephistopheles seem the type to read to children to you?”
For a split second, they looked surprised, embarrassed. As if they had forgotten about who Raphael’s father was. “What about your mother?”
Raphael shrugged. “As far as I know, she died shortly after I was born.”
“As far as you know?”
“All I have been told of her is that, and the fact that she was one of Mephistopheles’ Nameless. The inner circle ones with the vacant eyes, most probably.” He shrugged. “There's a good chance that she couldn't read, to answer your initial question.”
Raphael could see their racing thoughts in their widening eyes. Shock. He wondered what part of what he had said was putting that expression on their face. The fact that those vacant eyed servants were Nameless was something of an open secret at court, so he assumed they knew. His parentage, on the other hand, wasn't spoken of. It seemed a poor explanation for the many emotions he saw flashing in their eyes. Hope? Fear? He couldn't tell.
“You could have been born without a name,” is what they ended up saying, sounding stunned.
He rolled his eyes at the ever-present misconception. “I always could have. There's barely any proof for it being dependent on parentage.”
Raphael tried to not sound like he had spent a lot of time in his youth obsessing about the intricacies of how Named and Nameless come to be. A lot more chance seemed to be involved than anyone would like to believe, although he had to concede that there had been plenty of sources suggesting offspring had a higher chance to be Nameless if one of the parents was. It wasn't a common enough occurrence to back the claim fully, though, and it was evidently not just a question of blood.
“What would have happened to you?” They asked after a moment of silence, shock still evident in their voice, though their tone was mostly curious.
He paused, as if the question had not been a constant his whole life. “I assume I would have been given to the care of the Nameless here at court and would be sitting at someone's feet today, smiling pleasantly.”
They frowned at that, a grin slowly pulling at their lips, “I don't think you have the temperament for it.”
Raphael was both glad for their attempt at levity and deeply insulted at their judgement of his character. Obviously, he acted on latter, pushing them off his lap and into the water.
“You criticise my temperament?”
Evidently Haarlep had not anticipated his reaction, as they tumbled into the water with a surprised yelp. They re-emerged laughing, struggling to push their hair out of their face.
“Were you trying to make me sound more correct?”
“Shut your mouth. If my attitude displeases you, you are welcome to leave.”
Chuckling, they moved to sit beside him without exiting the pool, settling instead on the underwater step. He took note of the careful space they had left between them.
“Who said anything about it displeasing me?” They all but purred, and Raphael’s breath hitched as he felt their tail run up his still-submerged calf.
It drew a chuckle from them and then they closed their eyes and leaned back again, relaxing. The silence did not last long. “You actually answered a personal question,” they teased, sounding pointedly awed.
Raphael huffed a laugh. “Personal? I never knew her.”
“Her existence was still crucial to your person.”
“I guess so.” Raphael honestly didn't care. “I want to ask you something, too.”
They sat up a little straighter, eyes opening when they turned to look at him. “Oh, are we playing a game? I ask you something and you ask me?”
“No.” Raphael waved the concept away dismissively. He had no time for games. “But I've been thinking. Can you change shape into anyone you see?”
Their whole face lit up with mischief. “Oh? Did somebody catch your eye?” They leaned a little closer, tone conspiratory, “Anyone on your mind you don't feel like wooing?”
“No.” He glared at them, willing them to let him speak without interrupting. “I'm trying to understand. You changed my face when you turned into me. How far can you change the shape you take? Can you turn into a slightly different version of yourself, for example?” He pulled up one knee. “I've read a lot of theory about this kind of magic, but none of it seemed overly interested in making the rules clear. I'm curious.”
“Curious? Why?” They narrowed their eyes, as if squinting would make the answer visible in his face. “Did I make you reconsider your stance on getting a companion of your own?”
Raphael gave a long-suffering sigh. Why wouldn’t they just answer his questions? “No.”
“That's all you ever say, darling.”
“There's no point in lying. If anything, you are so insufferable you have reinforced my decision of passing on such companionship.” They laughed at this, and Raphael waited until they calmed down before adding, “Magic interests me, and I want to understand it better.”
Should Haarlep take this information to their master, it will not be news to him. It should be safe to talk about. They were unable to enlighten him on any of the magic that truly interested him, but this was the next best thing. Raphael had always silently hoped that understanding one better would help understanding the other. Not that he had any proof for that being the case.
“Well, I cannot change into a slightly different version of myself, no,” they finally said. “Most of the differences you perceived when I changed into you weren't entirely on purpose. Faces can be very difficult to get right, especially as a lot of what makes them so distinct is how people move them to express themselves.” They shrugged. “Sometimes, smoothing out features is simply easier to do, and most of the time more desirable for the client anyway.”
“But you cannot do so with your own features?” The scar on their chin was barely there anymore, but Raphael had wondered why it was there at all when they could change shape.
“No. I can't change just parts of me, I have to change it all.” There was something thoughtful in their gaze when they held his for a little moment before continuing, “When already in disguise, minor shifts are doable if you're familiar with how to do it.”
“And you are?” He tried to sound sceptical rather than eagerly curious.
They raised a brow, “Have you known me to be anything short of exceptional at anything I do?” Grinning, they put their elbows on the pool’s edge, leaned back into the slight breeze. “I've always enjoyed shedding one form for another. It is quite fun once you get the hang of it, and it opens many a door with volatile and moody masters who grow bored easily.”
Raphael frowned. “Is that all everyone uses those powers for?” It seemed like a waste.
“Probably not. I've known an artist who liked to let their Nameless change shape and pose for him to study.” They shrugged. “Changing skin doesn't make us anything that we are not. Spies could be easily found out if pressed about a name, for example. So, as far as I know, it is an ability mostly used for pleasure.”
He pondered that for a moment. Sure, the name thing would be an easy way to be caught, but there could be a way around it, no? It simply seemed like there was untapped potential. He knew his father used his strange empty Nameless for spying, and they clearly succeeded at it. Though Raphael had no idea if changing shape was something they did. He had at least never observed it, back when he used to keep a closer eye on them in the hopes of finding out what their deal was.
“You fundamentally stay yourself, right? It is just the aesthetics that change, the voice…you don't become stronger or adopt any of the others’ skills or weaknesses?” he eventually asked.
“We should all be quite relieved about that,” they answered, a smug grin on their lips.
Raphael took that as his sign to stop seeming so interested in them, and fell silent. Haarlep, too, quickly seemed lost to their own thoughts, a troubled expression in their eyes, brows furrowed a little. They must still be thinking about whatever had shocked them earlier. Or maybe they were realising how this conversation had once again yielded little of use for them to bring before Mephistopheles. Who knew.
Raphael wasn’t thinking about much of anything. He was thinking about them, he guessed, and their insistence that they had never come here to spy. Raphael still did not believe that, but it was an interesting thought exercise to wonder what else might keep bringing them here if there was nothing to gain in their journey to freedom from it. Their visits didn't always end in bed, so that could not be it. Neither did Raphael let them into the pool every time.
He could not fathom what they wanted from him, aside from the obvious they so vehemently insisted they did not want. Nothing else made sense.
“I don't understand what you want from me.”
They actually jumped a little at the sudden sound of his voice, blinked up at him in mild confusion while processing the sentence. Raphael had to admit that it had come a bit out of nowhere, but he had to voice some of his frustration.
“Maybe I don't want anything,” they mumbled after a moment of consideration. “Maybe I simply wish to fill the free hours of my afternoon with idle pleasantries.” Again, he felt their tail wrap around his leg in the water as their voice lowered, “Maybe I just find you irresistible. That should be easy enough to believe for you, no?”
Raphael raised an eyebrow. “And your connection to my father is complete chance in it all?”
“You don't believe in coincidence,” they chuckled, but it sounded nearly pained.
Silence fell again, until Haarlep mumbled, “What does he do to them?” Quieter, “Those…empty Nameless.”
Ah. So that was what had shaken them so. Strange, that they had not come to the conclusion of what those people were on their own.
“I don't know. I don't think anyone but him does,” he answered truthfully, and some of the frustration at not knowing probably rang through in his tone. So many things he did not know and had no way of learning. And one of those had tried to kill him once already.
With a sigh, he ran a hand through their hair. They leaned into it as if it were a lifeline.
“They're wrong,” they mumbled, sounding nearly panicked. Then they sat up and sighed. “I need to leave. There's a party in an hour I need to attend.”
Raphael turned to look towards the open doors and got a glimpse of the outside. The sun looked so much lower than it had when they had first come in here. How had time passed so quickly?
He had places to be, too, so he nodded in agreement with them and mumbled, “I need to get ready myself.”
They slowly disentangled and rose from the water. Haarlep turned to him, “Will you continue reading to me some other time?”
It was such a strangely genuine question and they looked so very exhausted, Raphael’s initial no got stuck in his throat. Instead, he pressed out, “If you insist.”
They smiled, kissed his temple. “Thank you.”
Raphael did not feel like he had anything else to say, so they dressed in silence, and when he brought them back to the entrance door, they left wordlessly, seeming a little relieved.
*
They had not lied about the party, though it was not their first stop. Mephistopheles had sent word for them to come to him today, not to report, but to be briefed. They had no idea what it meant. Their orders had probably changed significantly again or maybe he wanted them to switch their focus to somebody newly arrived at court? It had to be somewhat urgent if it couldn't wait until their next regular visit.
They had dreaded going all day, had treated themself to this relaxing afternoon so there would be something to look forward to, and now it had left them so full of questions and impressions they were struggling to focus on the unwanted meeting ahead.
So those strange empty-eyed servants their master kept close were Nameless. They had thought they might be, but having it confirmed chilled them to the bone. What had been done to them? And maybe more importantly, why? Could Mephistopheles do it to them if he wanted? Probably. They disliked knowing just how much at their master’s mercy they were. They disliked knowing they could end up an empty-eyed shadow of themself just like that. And not knowing why those were what they were meant they didn't even know how to avoid such a fate befalling them. They urged to ask, just to know how to keep themself safe, but they had not dared ask a single question out of turn since Mephistopheles had responded with the whip. Besides, maybe if they offended him that way one too many times he'd do to them as he'd done to his vacant-eyed servants. Unclear as to what exactly that would entail they somehow felt certain it would put freedom further from their reach.
They arrived at their master’s door with even more unease than usual.
Taking a moment or two to gather themself, they tried to put the things Raphael had told them out of their mind before knocking on the door, steeled themself for the inevitable vacant eyes that'd meet theirs when the door opened. They could not help but wonder briefly whether this one might warm the duke’s bed as they walked past him into the room.
Mephistopheles made them wait some more once they were inside. The longer they stood, the more difficult it became to not feel overwhelmed by all the questions the afternoon had left them with. How they itched to ask them. Thoughtlessly, their fingers came to rub at the faded scar on their chin.
Mephistopheles entered at last, and they lowered their eyes and willed their nervous heartbeat to quiet. They seemed unable to contain their fear since the night his whip had hit them. It made them feel pathetic.
As per usual, Mephistopheles got straight to the point. “I have called you here because you will accompany some of my agents on a mission in two days.”
They bit their tongue to keep their surprise at the news a quiet one. The duke disliked being interrupted, and he was not yet finished.
“You will pay one lower noble a visit who seems to be doing astonishingly well for himself considering how close his trade is linked to those areas and passages we have lost recently.” He paused for effect. Was Raphael even aware of how similar his speech patterns were to his father’s? “The visit itself will be one of showing support in these difficult times. One of many, though half of the entourage — including you — will return to court after this one to report your findings. I'd like some insight in how he's maintaining business with so little difficulty, and I'd like said insight to be drawn from him subtly. Understood?”
Absurdly, all they said was, “I am to leave court?”
They didn’t know why it shocked them so. Maybe it was the casualness, the suddenness of it all. It was rare enough for masters to let their pets out of their sight, unheard of for them to be sent away like this on their own. But maybe, like with many other things, it was different for the duke. They suddenly wondered if those empty-eyed Nameless ever got to leave court.
“Temporarily,” was Mephistopheles’ response, and they could tell by how he was leaning back in his chair that this meeting was coming to an end. “Go and report to the captain that'll lead you for more information.”
“Very well, your Grace.”
They left the duke’s rooms more agitated than they had entered them, though that was not too uncommon. An outside mission. Was this a test? A reward? They could not tell what might have incentivised the duke to give them such a different assignment from their usual. The not knowing made them nervous. Had they done something that had given him the desire to have them out of his sight? Or had they maybe proven themself as reliable at what they did so that he felt them fit to send on such a mission? Both seemed equally probable with him, and they obviously couldn't ask.
Two days was not a lot of time to prepare. Surely he must have been planning this for much longer. So maybe the short notice was proof for this being a punishment rather than a sign that their efforts were finally getting them somewhere.
Well, they'd prove themself worthy anyway. They were willing to do as much as they could in such a limited time. Willing and obedient in order to earn the right to their name.
It was starting to sound nearly hollow, but they refused to acknowledge it. They would be free. And freedom would be all the sweeter for the work they had to put into gaining it. They hoped.
They returned to their own rooms, in a hurry now to get ready for the party and somehow managed to get more details on their mission beforehand. Upon leaving Mephostopheles’ rooms one of his servants had waited with instructions on where to go and who to report to. With so little time left to familiarise themself at least with the fellow company, not to say anything about the subject of their journey they couldn't waste a minute. With some luck, once they found out more about where they were to go, they might be able to try and listen for information at the party later. It was to be a bigger affair with many guests more familiar with the world outside court's walls than the one within. It would be worth a try.
Chapter Text
In the end, they ended up excusing themself from a lot of oncoming social events, replacing them with others more likely to yield relevant information for their mission. Their briefing had been minimal, and their captain about as ready to answer their questions as their master was. They had the feeling that their presence wasn’t entirely wanted, and that their involvement to be kept minimal.
Fine. They would find other ways to get a better picture of what — and who — expected them at the end of this journey. Somebody at court always knew something about everything and everyone. If that meant completely reworking their schedule and sending countless apology notes with promises of making up for the inconvenience in the near future, so be it.
Their findings were meagre by the evening before they were bound to leave, but that seemed to be more due to the rather reclusive nature of their target than any fault on their end. Plenty of people they had spoken to in those long two days had heard of the lord they were to visit, but very few knew anything they hadn’t heard already, and none spoke particularly confidently about what they knew, admitting to having heard of it from somebody who knew somebody who might have known someone that had visited the estate a decade ago.
It got to a point where they started to wonder whether Mephistopheles’ people would be let in once there. Sure, the duke could not be denied, but they were getting the impression that the lord and his family had been living this suspiciously elusive life for some time, suggesting that they probably knew how to avoid the occasional curious visitors.
Alas, the elusiveness itself was, they guessed, something. And at least they got a better idea of how the family was perceived — and of how many members it consisted of. Frustratingly little to face their mission with, but it would have to do. The morning before they were to leave came quickly, and they had nowhere left to turn to for additional information. It would be fine. Improvisation had always been their strong suit.
They were up and dressed far too early for their own tastes, nerves alight as they watched the sun rise out of the corner of their eye while they finished pinning up their hair. Ideally, today would have been the first late breakfast with Lythil in a long time, and maybe they could have tried to figure out what her pet thought after their breakdown last time. There was something deeply uncomfortable in the memory. Not because they weren't thankful for his offered comfort, but because they had wondered what he might think was even happening to them since then. They kept finding themself worried he might ask, kept thinking about everything he knew about them. Maybe they could play into his idea of their interest in Raphael should it come to it.
What a silly thing to be thinking of now. He would never ask. He was too well-bred for it.
With a sigh, they at last gave up on their hair. The journey would undo much of their work anyway, and there wasn't an awful lot of time left. Maybe they hadn't been as early as they had thought.
Still, the idea of waiting in their room until it was time to go was not one they were fond of. Keeping their mind from spiralling one way or another was already costing them much concentration.
Would the time be enough to say a goodbye? A brief one, maybe, if they left now. Their things for the journey had been picked up yesterday so they didn't have to worry about that.
Giving their reflection one last run-over, they turned around and went for the door. Raphael would surely cheer them up.
They had to knock a couple times before steps could be heard beyond the door. The possibility that it might be too early for him to be awake had not occurred to them. Not that they cared much about disturbing his beauty sleep, he would probably pretend to be displeased at their visit either way.
The door opened to Raphael’s frowning face, hair askew and his dressing gown evidently hastily thrown on, not entirely covering his chest. Quite suddenly they realised just how long it had been since they had indulged in him, tail swishing as they lamented not having a little more time.
“Good morning, beautiful,” they hummed, surprised that Raphael had not taken their brief silence to tell them to fuck off already.
Although considering the slow wandering of his eyes over them suggested he might be just as distracted at their sight as they had been at his. There was something very pleasing about his lingering eyes, the knowledge that complain as he might about their chosen fabric patterns, the cut was becoming.
“You're up and ready early.” His voice was flat, but the alertness in his eyes suggested a certain interest in the matter.
They could not bite back a grin. “I only came to bid you farewell, princess.”
Raphael straightened up, eyes wide. “You're leaving court?”
“Only for a little while. Two weeks or so at most,” they reassured him, amused by his alarm. Their hands came to cup his face, gentle even as their tone went ironic, “I thought it better to warn you so concern and yearning would be more bearable.”
They swallowed Raphael’s irritated comeback with a kiss from which they pulled away only with great difficulty. It occurred to them how much they did not wish to go on this mission. They'd rather stay and work through their building frustration the only way they knew how. It would feel more rewarding then going out with the hopes of this mission’s success bringing them in any way closer to their goal at last, only to return and find that Mephistopheles was as impressed with them as ever.
Because that’s what would happen, was it not? It was becoming more and more difficult to cling to the hope that anything they were doing would actually get them anywhere.
The thought left a bitter taste in their mouth, and Raphael clearly took their frown for an insult, if his glaring was anything to go by. His tone was suitably poisonous when he spat, “Where are you going?”
They could not help but grin because try as he might he could not fully hide his disappointment at them pulling away. Raphael was at least certain to amuse them, no matter what.
“Now, you know I cannot answer that question,” they chided, giving a regretful and entirely insincere sigh, “But I do need to get going.” Closing the distance between them again, they pressed a kiss to Raphael’s forehead, ran their fingers through his hair, mumbling, “Do think of me while I’m away. I’ll be sure to keep you on my mind.”
Raphael froze as they lowered their voice, and once again they itched to be quite a bit late to their excursion. With a wink, they turned their back on Raphael’s flustered expression and hurried away, both so they’d still be on time and also to make it less tempting to give into their desire to not go at all and enjoy Raphael instead.
The journey itself was surprisingly boring. Their fellow travellers were not particularly talkative, and every time they managed to coax and tease one into a little chat the captain made sure to put an end to it quickly. It seemed to be her general opinion that the journey should happen with minimal talk for even too-loud conversation between the others were eventually stilled.
Riding quietly could have been nice had the landscape been much to look at. As happy as they were about having put their homeland behind them, they had not quite shaken the opinion that the landscape had been prettier there. The mostly flat, predominantly rocky planes they saw now, with their stubborn, dark shrubbery and the occasional short, gnarly tree were interesting to look at for maybe a minute, but then they found themself as bored as before. It made an already long journey stretch into perceived eternity.
But it did end. Towards the end of the third day on the road, they at last reached their destination, an impressive-looking manor which had evidently grown frequently since its more humble beginnings, judging by the somewhat mismatched architecture of the different wings.
Their hosts expected them respectfully at the door, and as welcomes and gratitudes were exchanged, they came to the quick conclusion that nothing would be gained from the tight lips of the Lord who called this place home. He had been doing this much too long to be fooled, they could tell immediately by his tone, too perfectly chosen — surprise and awe packaged neatly in humble pride to be honoured by this visit — too rehearsed to not suggest lifelong practise at dealing with people of higher rank that asked one too many questions.
His son, on the other hand, seemed not quite hardened the same way. Oh, he stood, straight-backed and haughty next to his father as latter spoke, but they could tell he was restless, his eyes darting from one guest to another with a little too much interest. There probably was little excitement or amusement for him on this isolated estate, and they made sure to have a curious grin ready on their lips for when his eyes met theirs. He took note of it, despite doing his very best not to show it.
Better. They could not guess how much of his father’s business he knew about, but it’d be less of a waste of time to try with him.
At long last, all formalities and introductions were done with, and luggage and horses were taken by the servants. Happy to be back on their feet, they gave a quiet hum and brushed some loose strands of hair out of their face, brushed some of the dust off their doublet and straightened their sleeves. Their relief for having finally arrived was a sentiment shared by even their captain, though their restlessness still got them a glare from her.
And a brief, intrigued glance from the lord’s son. They’d be sure to remember it should she complain of their conduct to Mephistopheles upon return.
Apologies were being made as the company was finally led through the entrance doors — the mansion’s comforts, of course, could never match what they knew from the duke’s court, their host lamented in that same careful tone before adding, sounding convincingly upset, how he regretted his husband’s absence for such an important and honouring visit. They were sure they were not the only one wondering where said person had gone, considering the visit had been announced nearly a month ago, a reasonable amount of time for the whole family to be present to receive them.
That, surely, might be something a son might know? They dared another glance at him. He had rather fine features for his broad shoulders, soft-looking auburn hair and softer-looking round lips. Maybe this mission would be more pleasant than previously feared.
*
Raphael did not go back to sleep after Haarlep left. He didn't even bother going all the way back to his bed, moving to one of the couches by the fireplace instead. Confused as he was, sleep-addled mind still trying to make sense of what had just happened, he knew he would not have fallen asleep again. He felt just a little too hot for that.
Haarlep was leaving court. Raphael was not awake enough to keep himself from spiralling immediately. His initial disbelief at the idea quickly turned into envy, anger. He had been confined to court’s boundaries by Mephistopheles for so long. The thought of the very same person sending one of his newest spies — the one he had set on Raphael, to add insult to injury — out on a mission beyond filled him with a fury that was near overwhelming.
On the other hand Raphael could not help but wonder why. The little expedition itself was not a new thing, Mephistopheles had always been fond of them, especially in times where other things might distract from his power. They were an efficient intimidation tactic that could easily be sold as a ruler showing care and respect to their subjects.
They used to be Raphael’s primary outings back when he had still been allowed to leave his father’s ever-present eyes. He had never enjoyed it, but Mephistopheles had known how honoured all would feel by him sending his own blood, so he did. It had never mattered that even then their strained relationship had been well-rumoured beyond court’s walls. As a symbol, it had worked.
Mephistopheles had never quite bothered finding a replacement for that particular task after Raphael had stopped being allowed to leave. In general, Raphael had long thought that his father had started to neglect the veneer of support and honour in these expeditions, choosing to send more military than idle, high-ranking nobles known to have his favour. It irked Raphael. It seemed wasted potential, and it wasn’t like his closer circle kept particularly busy at court anyway. Were it his choice to make, he would use them better.
But it was not his choice to make. And it made about as much sense as sending Haarlep of all people along. At least one of his nameless spies had always been part of these sorts of missions, but sending one he was already using elsewhere seemed a strange choice.
Raphael felt insulted. Did Mephistopheles not consider him worth monitoring all of a sudden?
Or was that what he wanted Raphael to believe? Was he being bated? Did he know there would be something Raphael would react to soon?
Or maybe Haarlep had told the truth, and they had never been sent by him.
No. Raphael refused to believe that. He rubbed his temples with a sigh. It was too early for this. He had to calm down, to think clearly.
It occurred to him suddenly that Haarlep was gone. He was on his feet and moving to the closet in a breath. Maybe Baelun would be free right now.
Baelun was not free. Raphael found them outside at one of the group lessons. It was not as well visited as the afternoon ones, but considering the early hour the number of participants still surprised him. He stood and watched, marvelling at how Baelun needed no words to keep their pupils well-disciplined.
They walked from one to the other, correcting a position here, giving a stern look there. None seemed to struggle to understand what was meant, and Raphael heard the occasional mumbled thank you about as much as he heard frustrated curses, presumably because this was not the first time the mistake had been pointed out. He knew Baelun could be relentless and just a little perfectionist with their training. Something about needing to know how to do it right to be able to still do it well in the throes of battle, they had told him.
Raphael’s eyes wandered idly over the participants, trying to judge their skill himself. Most were around his age, he’d guess, and some obviously more unused to the exercise than the others. He recognised one face or another from sight at a dinner or some other gathering, but only one recognised him back. The new lord he had just recently beaten at his favourite game. Dalyn, if Raphael recalled the name he had given correctly, caught his gaze, smiled in greeting. Raphael nodded in return, grinned when Baelun nearly kicked his legs out from under him for the distraction. Somehow, he caught himself quite elegantly — Raphael seemed to remember he had gotten his title partly through military connections — bowed in apology to his master. But Baelun was looking at Raphael, frowning in disapproval.
Raphael only shrugged, signed, Me after?
Not long, came the response, wait.
There was something in the movements of their hands that read like a chiding, and Raphael caught himself nearly pouting. Baelun shook their head and went back to their lesson, paying him no more mind. Raphael crossed his arms, and waited.
The lesson did indeed not last much longer, and the moment Baelun ended it the silence broke, pupils chatting as they dispersed. Raphael returned Dalyn’s wave, but was happy to see he was leaving with someone else. He did not feel like talking right now.
Once they were all gone and the field was silent again, Baelun moved towards him.
Breakfast, they signed, and walked straight past him, waving for him to follow.
Raphael had not realised his own hunger until now, had completely forgotten to eat in his excitement. So he followed, hurrying to catch up.
They had not had breakfast together in a very long time, and yet the tiny room Baelun called their own looked exactly as Raphael remembered it. Sparsely furnished and dimly lit, its dimensions were just enough to accommodate the straw mattress in its back and the low, square dining table in front of the fireplace. The table was set, the breakfast a more modest one than Raphael was used to, but not too bad. He took his seat on the cushion that was closer to the fireplace, assuming Baelun still preferred to keep their distance to it.
Breakfast went on in companionable silence, Baelun mostly looking out of the small window to their right. Raphael followed their gaze, saw only more of the outside fields of the training grounds. The sky looked grey. Maybe it would rain later.
Baelun eventually knocked on the table, gently, just to get his attention. Your friend left.
Raphael frowned, confused. They rolled their eye, made a motion with their hands that suggested twisting horns, looked at him with a half-lidded eye and a suggestive grin.
Raphael nearly choked on the dry bread he was chewing, fighting a burst of laughter at seeing such an expression on their face. Once he caught himself, he could not quite bite back the grin, despite feeling irritated at the topic at hand. “They’re not my friend.” He sounded a little too affronted by the suggestion, but it seemed ridiculous. Haarlep was, if anything, his nuisance. He frowned. “Wait, how do you know that?”
They told me.
“It sounds to me like they are your friend.”
They raised a brow. Jealous?
Raphael refused to answer such a stupid question, changed the topic, “Are your classes lately as full as the one just now? I seem to recall much fewer numbers, especially in the morning.”
They made a vague waving motion with their hand, their expression utterly unimpressed. More, but worthless.
Raphael chuckled, finished his coffee before getting to his feet. “Time to give you a worthy challenge, then.”
They grinned and stood up, following him back out of the room.
It was two days after Haarlep left that Raphael got the letter. He recognised Vys’ writing immediately, straightened up in his chair, alert. The coffee he had been holding in his other hand was quickly forgotten, set down and abandoned as he ripped the letter open.
He read it, eager, quickly, too excited to finally have what he had waited for so long to slow himself, which did mean he understood very little of even its superficial content. He took a breath, tried to calm his racing heart, tried to focus. She was alive, which was good. Raphael allowed himself a moment to indulge the relief of not having lost his most promising ally.
But he still had to understand what she was telling him, between her inane ramblings about her journey, her idle observations of one inn's food and another's mattress. She had always been exceptionally good at this, and usually Raphael found great pleasure in decoding it all. He just had waited so long, and with close to no patience left, the task seemed mildly irritating.
Alas. He took his coffee again, and read more slowly, the rest of his breakfast and letters forgotten.
Most of the morning had gone by by the time he looked up again. He had eventually gotten up to get something to write, had taken some notes to help him, but he believed he had understood all she had written.
Things were worse closer to the borders than Mephistopheles let on. People were far from happy.
It was all wonderful news.
He sat and pondered, finally remembering to reach for something to eat. Thoughtfully, he stroked the oval shape with his thumb, pondering what he ought to do now. A glance at his hand told him he had grabbed a small plum.
He put it in his mouth and got to his feet, taking both the letter and notes, and moving to the small fire crackling in the fireplace. He let both pieces of paper fall in, then poked at the flames to encourage them, thinking all the while how best to proceed. Vys had warned again against acting too rashly, but she knew as well as him that inaction wouldn't do either.
It was time for him to think about all possible allies he'd been acquainting himself with at court. It was time to consider which ones were truly trustworthy, who needed to know of what was happening now and whose skills and connections would only become relevant later on.
He was chewing his lip standing by the fire long until after letter and notes were ashes.
It was another two days of pondering before Raphael came to any conclusion. He had decided not to pursue any of his long term acquaintances right away, believing it to be more suspicious. If Mephistopheles believed sending his most present spy away would make Raphael careless, he didn't know him very well.
What he decided to do was making up his mind about the most recent possible future ally.
It was easy to arrange for both himself and Lord Dalyn to be present at a lunch. They had enough shared acquaintances for it to seem natural. In a way, it was quite impressive just how well he had integrated in this short time at court. Another argument that had swayed Raphael’s opinion to a positive one.
The lunch itself was a merry one, conversation and wine flowing easily. Amidst the gossip and plans for future card games and the war, Raphael had no trouble suggesting Dalyn get an opportunity for revenge — another game, his rules, ah, but was the weather not too lovely not to take a walk first? Had he familiarised himself with the gardens? There was something in his eyes that told Raphael he understood. Good.
So they left together — not just the two of them, another companion walking with them for a little while, all three deep in conversation about some performance. Nobody at the lunch had been able to agree on the quality of the foreign minstrel’s voice, and while Raphael had more urgent things to concern himself with, he refused to stand down on this particular topic. It’s what they’d expect of him, after all.
Goodbyes were said at the door to the building, and they were alone at last. The silence that fell as they looked at each other was unnatural, tense, but also brief as both noticed they were acting a little suspicious in plain sight of too many.
“So you’ll show me the gardens and then I’ll beat you at last?” He asked as Raphael directed them towards one of the snaking paths.
“I can guarantee the former, but not the latter.” He eyed him from the corner of his eye, a grin on his lips. “Did your skills improve since last time?”
He laughed. “Last time was no question of skill, but of luck. I had you—”
“And yet you lost.”
“Simply an opportunity to win next time,” He said with a wink, and Raphael did not believe they were speaking of the game anymore. He gave a nod, and walked on with him.
Chapter 18
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It was wishful thinking to hope Raphael would be in. Early evening was unlikely to have him unengaged, but they wanted so badly to catch him alone. Their time away had only left them more eager. They had left court with the desire to bed him, and had ended up missing his company in that too quiet castle with its dull inhabitants.
They were itching for him. If only they could find him, preferably somewhere more private where onlookers were unlikely to get in their way.
It was that wish that had them take the painstakingly long way to the training grounds after waiting in front of Raphael’s closed door for far too long. They should have checked those halls closer by where gatherings were sure to be happening right about now, where Raphael might be entertaining some small group with his easy charm.
It would be the most likely place to find him, but it would also be such a hassle to get him to leave such a place without getting engaged in some conversation or another themself.
It simply would not do. They sincerely hoped the brat had tried to make the most of their absence in catching up with his training. Getting him away from that would be easy enough. Their mere presence was enough to make him want to leave after all. He only had to wish to leave with them, which they were confident in being able to achieve.
They were already so lost in the after, that the genuine relief at hearing what very much sounded like Raphael’s voice through the customary door briefly made them halt in their tracks. In many ways they had always been lucky, they guessed.
A moment, two, for them to gather themself, be sure that it was him, before they opened the door. Their suspicions were immediately confirmed, Raphael and Baelun too locked into their fight to notice their presence.
For a moment, they stood and watched, the handle of the open door still in their hand as their eyes took Raphael in. He must have been at it for some time, shirt stuck to his back with sweat, ponytail coming half-undone, face dark with exertion. Their grip on the doorknob tightened. The room was just a little too hot, and their expression was still locked in embarrassing gaping when Raphael caught sight of them.
The annoyance glinting in his eyes reminded them to get some control over their features, so they schooled them into an easy grin as they waved to them both in greeting. Baelun gave them a nod, not looking too pleased to have the lesson interrupted, but not half as bothered by it compared to Raphael.
They let the door fall closed at last as Raphael nearly stormed towards them, sword still in hand, and a tirade surely on the tip of his tongue. A beautiful sight, and before Raphael’s pretty lips managed to part to undoubtedly tell them to leave, they pulled him close and kissed him. Raphael froze against them, unmoved by their enthusiasm, or possibly simply too shocked to react.
His eyes went to Baelun when they pulled away, expression peculiarly alarmed. Their free hand came to his chin, turning his face back towards them. “I brought you a gift from my travels,” They wished for his undivided attention — had yearned for it since leaving court — and they would have it. “I’d like to give it to you in private.”
He looked baffled, a little suspicious but there was also a flicker of intrigue in his eyes. If they had learned one thing about the princeling it was that once his curiosity was piqued, he would follow it. In that they weren't too different from each other.
Raphael held their gaze thoughtfully, calculating for another eternity before speaking up at last, the grin twitching at the corner of his mouth sly. “Fine. Wait outside as I finish here.”
They frowned, but before they could open their mouth to argue, Raphael’s finger pressed against their lips. “Enough. I'll be with you in a moment, just go out and wait.”
With some muttered protest, they eventually let go of him after another tense moment of staring. Raphael’s self-satisfied grin was nearly enough for them to double down on ignoring his instructions, but they were impatient. How unlike them.
They waved goodbye to the swordmaster, who looked close to bursting into laughter, and left the room without another glance at Raphael. Once outside, they leaned against the wall next to the door and tried to listen. Of course, all was silent from the other side. At least that meant they had not picked up where they had left off, which seemed a good thing.
Enough time passed that they were considering going back inside when the door moved at last. Raphael emerged, met their eyes with something like anger.
“Don't do this again,” he said while closing the door.
They rolled their eyes. “Why, does even a quiet audience make you shy?”
Raphael bristled, lips pressed into a thin line. For once, he seemed disinclined to continue the argument, walking right past them instead. Intriguing.
They fell in step quietly, not wishing to anger him further. The last thing they wanted right now was to be sent away after waiting for so long.
“You just arrived.” It wasn't a question, nor quite a peace offering. But it was something. Curiosity had weighed heavier than offence.
“I hope my travel clothes don't please any less upon second wear,” they teased, noticing Raphael’s lingering gaze.
He pointedly turned away. “You're dusty.”
They chuckled, trailed his spine with purposeful fingers, voice low, “And you sweat-soaked.”
Raphael only exhaled noticeably.
“How did your…excursion go?” He asked after a brief moment of silence, shuddering slightly as they stepped outside the building. The night was warm, but Raphael was hot against their fingertips.
“I have yet to find it out,” they answered truthfully. Their report wasn't due until tomorrow, and they had no idea if what they had to say would please Mephistopheles. “It's the last thing I wish to think about right now, though.” A wave of their hand to emphasise that the topic was over before they turned slightly to look at him. “I missed you.”
He looked at them from the corner of his eye. “Did you, now.”
They winked, wrapped their arm around his waist. Raphael said nothing but neither did he try to shake them off. Probably the closest they’d get to admittance from him.
The rest of the way to Raphael’s door went by in anticipatory silence, tension just shy of uncomfortable. It felt like exquisite torture, every step too slow, every quiet exhale from Raphael leaving them itching to make him pant.
And then they were finally through the door, and they shifted, wrapped one arm around him from behind to press his back flush to their chest. Their free hand roamed his front, trailed along the closures of his shirt.
“I hope you're not too exhausted to indulge me tonight,” they hummed against his ear before pressing a kiss to it.
Raphael took a moment too long to respond, the accusation in his voice tinged with amusement, “You interrupted before I could tire myself out.”
“We can change that.” Chuckling, they bit at the shell of his ear hard enough to hurt — Raphael started, tensed — then soothed the sting with their tongue.
With a hum, Raphael turned his head, exposing his neck, an invitation they were happy to accept. They buried their face in its curve, pressed their lips to Raphael’s still steady pulse as the hand on his chest started undoing the clasps of his shirt.
They went slowly, fingers wandering unhurriedly from clasp to clasp, savouring how Raphael pressed himself into the touch, how his breath quickened as they kissed and bit and sucked on his neck, his ear. Their other hand did not move much from where it was holding him, fingers splaying out against his waist, caressing his hip. Pressing into soft flesh to taunt, to feel.
At last, his shirt lay open, and they could not resist the temptation of running both hands up his torso, claws dragging through the hairs on their way, catching his nipples. Raphael gasped, arched his back, hands coming to grab at their sleeves to steady himself as he shivered.
They had to shift their weight to keep them both steady, pressed a kiss to the corner of his open mouth, another to the soft underside of his jaw as Raphael threw his head back with a whimper, trying to press himself both into their hands and their body.
His racing pulse beneath their tongue, they walked him forward, a couple trembling steps until the wall they had pressed him against many a time was there, a place for Raphael to steady himself. He put both trembling hands against it, forehead following in a vain attempt to cool himself down.
Hot skin twitched under their hands as one continued their caressing, fingers following the shape of his collarbone, the curve of his throat, while the other wandered back down, pressing into the yielding flesh atop lean muscle with great pleasure on its way. They sucked in the tip of his ear, teeth grazing sensitive skin, and both trembled, hummed in near-synch, breathless. Their knee pushed his legs apart, maybe for extra balance, maybe to just hear the sharp, whimpered inhale, the rough-voiced exhale that sounded more like a moan.
Raphael craned his neck again as their fingers wrapped around his throat, caressed his jaw, his pulse so very noticeable against their hand despite the minimal pressure they applied. The other hand had passed his naval, nails running teasingly along the waistband, making his hips twitch impatiently. It did not slip beneath the fabric, but did slide lower, drawing a high-pitched keen from his lips, a trembling full-body twitch.
They pressed their nose into his hair, their fingertips following the shape of his lower lip before pressing into his open mouth, the pads of their fingers sliding along his soft tongue. It was their turn to gasp, praise spilling hot from their lips as Raphael tensed and twitched and trembled, gagged once when all his movement pushed their fingers too deep, choked on half-gasped curses as he pushed himself into their other hand’s steady movement.
It did not take long until Raphael came undone under their ministrations and they held him tightly as pleasure shook him, soothed and cooed breathlessly against his hot, hot skin. He all but collapsed against them, panting, head rolling onto their shoulder. They pressed a kiss to his sweat-slick temple, brushed the stray strands plastered to his forehead away gently.
“I’m not done with you, princess,” they mumbled after a moment, voice hoarse.
Still out of breath, Raphael chuckled, shifted in their arms. They loosened their grip, curious about what he might do. With stunning lack of coordination, Raphael turned to face them and pulled them into a sloppy kiss, fingers immediately unclasping the halfcloak from their shoulder before moving to the buttons. They nearly laughed into the kiss, happy about his enthusiasm and deeply amused at his frantic, uncoordinated fumbling with the buttons. They did agree that it was high time to take it all off. They were too hot, it felt too tight, but their faith in Raphael achieving that goal in his current state was limited. After a moment of indulgence, they slapped his hands away and took over, wondering if the long way to the bed would be worth interrupting this.
*
Raphael could have simply given into the persistent pull of sleep, comfortable as he was with their arms loosely around him and their warmth at his back. But while he had briefly forgotten about how they had ended up here, it returned to him now, and he refused to let it go unmentioned.
“Haarlep,” he mumbled, turning around to face them, “which part of this was the gift?”
They cracked their eyes open with some difficulty, the exhaustion from their journey now amplified. “None,” they yawned, straightened up a little and grinned. “But you did get a taste of it.”
Raphael frowned in confusion as to what that meant, their tone a little too amused. What had he tasted tonight? Nothing they could present him with as a gift for sure. The joke was flying over his sluggish head.
They chuckled, seemingly endeared by his incomprehension. “Give me your hand.”
After a brief moment of consideration, he did. He was curious. Part of him was convinced by now that the talk of a gift had simply been a lie.
To his surprise, they pulled off one of their rings. It was a new one, one that had caught Raphael’s attention tonight with its simple elegance, the smooth, polished flat stone so very eye-catching in its gold casing, dark but also seemingly on fire. They turned his open hand around and slipped it onto his pointer, where it fit marvellously.
“There,” appreciation was clear in their voice as they turned his hand a little to watch the few candles still burning catch in it. Right. He still needed to draw the curtains shut.
But right now Raphael was too busy taking in the ring. The stone was a perfect sphere, its colours within the general blackness so vivid it was nearly luminescent, the oranges, greens and blues seemingly shifting with the light. The ring itself was simple, but clearly expertly made, and Raphael raised an eyebrow.
“This seems quite expensive for a souvenir.”
“You underestimate my haggling skills.” There was something in their tone, in the glint of their eye that implied ‘haggling’ may be broadly defined. “It reminded me of you at the costume ball…” The sigh escaping their mouth was pointedly dreamy. “Do you think there will be another one soon? There's so many eras one could explore…”
“You seem more likely to know about such things than me,” was Raphael’s response, tone not quite as ironic as intended. He was still a little distracted taking in the ring. He had always been fond of black opals.
Haarlep sounded a little amused, “Well, do you like your gift?”
“I do.” He met their eyes, still a little suspicious of this, but unable to deny it. “Thank you.”
They made a noise that sounded like a satisfied, if sleepy hum, and Raphael could only agree. His training might have been interrupted, but he did not feel any less exhausted. He sat up — to their wordless complaint — and blew out the last of the candles, drew the curtains shut before returning to his previous position under the covers, facing them this time. Haarlep ducked their head under his chin and Raphael closed his eyes, running his fingers idly over their hair.
Raphael awoke disoriented and discontent after several attempts of making the shaking stop failed. The hand on his shoulder was warm and soft, but it kept moving him, a familiar voice whispering his name. Haarlep. How late was it that they were already awake enough to bother him?
With a sigh, he opened his eyes to darkness. Even after blinking no light was coming through the gaps in the curtains. He frowned, but Haarlep had apparently noticed he was awake now.
“Raphael? I need to leave soon.” There was a strange urgency in their sleepy voice.
“Why did you wake me?” He rasped, turning his back to them, shaking their hand off. “You know your way to the door.”
Haarlep only scooted closer, insisted, “Won’t you read to me for a little bit?” Raphael frowned at their tone, “The book on the bedside table—”
“No.”
It was the one he had read to them last time, but Raphael only wanted to sleep now. Why did they sound so panicked? It was too early for this.
Haarlep sat up just enough to reach around him to grab the book, leaned over him and pressed the book against his chest, pressing a kiss to his temple.
“Please?”
Sighing, Raphael waved them away, sat up. “What's wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” they said, but even in the relative darkness he could tell they were tense. “I just…would you read to me for a little bit? It won't be long. I need to leave soon.”
They spoke with dread, and Raphael's eyes went to their jaw. The scar was mostly faded by now, invisible in the dark, but Raphael did remember. Remembered, too, what they had said last night about how they would only find out whether their mission had been successful today. They probably had to leave to report to Mephistopheles. Evidently they were not looking forward to it.
Raphael took the book with a sigh, and the relief on their face looked nearly comical. Maybe they knew, since they proceeded to hide their face in his stomach, wrapping their long arms around his middle. He frowned, but decided to let them be and start reading instead. After a little while, his free hand came to play with their hair, trace their horns and he could feel some of their tension bleed out of them with a quiet sigh.
Notes:
I know i must have been looping a song when writing this chapter because it began playing in my head while editing lol (it's bitte bitte by raum27, if you're curious)
Chapter 19
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
They shut the door behind themself, immediately fell against it with the trembling exhale they had been fighting the long way back to their rooms. Tears that had gathered in the corners of their eyes finally spilled over and they fought a sob threatening to escape their lips.
Pathetic. Their hands had begun to tremble during their report and had only gotten worse once they had left that room with their hopes crushed. They balled them into fists now. What had they expected? How had they been stupid enough to hope this report would go any differently from the ones before?
Of course being sent on an outside mission had meant nothing. They had wasted their time thinking this might be it, that they would return and be closer to their own freedom. Not even free. All they had hoped for was a sign that they were on the right path, something, anything, that would have told them their work would get them where they wanted to be.
Instead, Mephistopheles had been as dismissive as always. They didn’t even know if anything they had said had been new to him, had been anywhere close to what he had expected to hear.
Their back slid down the door until they were sitting on the floor and they buried their face in their hands, unable to keep down their sobs any longer.
A foul mood clung to them even after they had cried their final tears. The emptiness, the despair and frustration were impossible to shake. Days passed and they could not help but feel irritable or melancholy, no matter if they found themself in company or alone. Not that they felt particularly partial to company in their state, but there had been many sulking acquaintances to soothe after their rather rushed departure, and they were determined not to let possibly useful relationships fall into disrepair. They refused to give up. What would they have left if they stopped working towards their freedom? Nothing.
Catching up with Lythil and her pet was marginally more pleasant, both seeming genuinely happy to see them again. Still, it was exhausting to keep their smile on their lips and their tone light as they talked and played, aware that her pet had seen them low, and was observant enough to pick up on them feeling even lower now.
In the end, they were happy to leave.
Solitude brought no solace, their mind a dark place of frustration and anger and a fruitless search for what had gone wrong. They played their flute, painted, mended some old favourites in their wardrobe, and felt their cage more keenly than they had in a very long time. They wanted to scream.
The idea of doing as they usually did and distract themself with Raphael was a frequently occurring one, and once or twice it had been tempting enough to try despite their distaste at the idea of looking at Mephistopheles’ eyes and being reminded of both their master’s underwhelming reaction to all they brought before him and Raphael’s own cruel words about the futility of their undertaking. They sounded truer every day, no matter how they kept insisting they did not believe them.
With themself so ill-disposed and Raphael as tense as usual — or maybe moreso? — the few attempts they made at finding some peace with him did not go well. They found themself lacking the patience necessary to deal with him, and him past the point of tolerating their — maybe sharper than usual, maybe a little bit cruel —- taunts. They would get loud and unpleasant quickly, or quiet and glaring when in public. There was no point to it.
Strange to remember how easy it had been that first night after their mission. They had felt so light then, and so delighted to be back, and now they kept wishing they were still gone if only so the hope of their work’s recognition would still be their own. If only so they did not feel such a heaviness in their gut.
There was one whose company ended up being more acceptable than most, possibly due to them being quiet. While their visits to Baelun had started as a way to annoy Raphael, they had taken a liking to the swordmaster.
Communication was still difficult. While they had eventually managed to coax them into teaching them a bit of sign language in-between their classes and tasks, they clearly did not enjoy it. They were not particularly talkative, but obviously not for a lack of things to talk about. They could only imagine the things Baelun might hear, silent themself among all those who came to them to learn to fight — and doubtlessly exchange gossip with their fellow nobles along the way.
They would not talk of any of it. Instead, they kept trying to talk them into joining one of their classes, clearly much more eager to teach them something they actually enjoyed teaching. They always graciously declined, asked them instead for one sign or another, insisting they look to confirm they were doing it right.
Maybe that was part of what made the few and occasional hours spent in their presence more bearable. Had they not often found themself learning a new skill to distract from a bad situation in the past?
Baelun never stopped whatever they were doing to instruct them, so they found themself often following them around or sitting as they cleaned up after a class or repaired the equipment. It was a slow and frustrating endeavour, but at least their mind was too occupied to mope and they felt like they were doing something useful with their time, despite that really not being the case. Useful would be to get back to gathering information. But then, how useful was that if Mephistopheles simply dismissed it?
More than once Baelun told them to go and ask someone else for these lessons. They did not seem to dislike their company, but would clearly rather swing a sword than correct the angle of their hand. Once they argued they could not teach them correctly anyway because of their missing fingers. Why didn't they ask someone better suited?
Despite knowing the answer to the question, they still said, “Who would I ask?”
Baelun raised a brow, spelled the name — slowly and clearly as they always did for them, no matter how much these lessons displeased them. Raphael.
They shook their head. “I’d rather someone who actually uses the language regularly teach me.”
Something like a short laugh left their lips. They pondered a moment, probably searching for easy signs to use to make them understand their response. They settled on, he taught me.
Baffled, they simply stared a moment. Despite their efforts, they knew very little about Baelun’s life aside from the obvious fondness for the royal bastard that seemed to stem from having known him a very long time. Even that they knew only from the little Raphael had mentioned and by observation.
They had so many questions. It seemed absurd that it should have been Raphael who taught them to communicate considering he was probably less than half their age and, generally, not a particularly charitable person. Then again, they knew nothing of Baelun’s past, not when they had come to court, not when they had lost their tongue. They knew nothing of their background, so was it truly so unlikely that they might have learned signing at court?
“How did you communicate before?” was the question they settled on asking, fully aware that Baelun had not once answered anything relating to any whens concerning their life before. This seemed the safest of all the questions they had.
Despite that, their expression darkened, and a peculiar distant expression settled in their eye. Silence stretched on and on and they both regretted asking, and could not deny their growing interest in their response now.
Suddenly, Baelun snapped out of it and looked up at the clock. They followed their gaze, and were unsurprised to be waved away when their eyes met again. A class would start soon, and they needed to prepare.
As happened often after a visit to the swordmaster, they felt tempted to go and find Raphael. Answers about the mysterious figure that was Baelun would surely be easier to coax from him, and now they wondered if he would be willing to teach them if they asked. Would he be a better teacher? Would he even agree to it? They were unsure if it was their own sour mood, but their presence had seemed particularly disagreeable to him the last couple visits.
Usually they ignored the urge to call on him lately. It never went anywhere and always left them more irritated than they already were.
They missed him. Often they thought of the last morning they had spent together in peace and felt the phantom of his fingers in their hair, trailing their horns. It had been so very comforting. They yearned to be back there, before their disappointing report and subsequent gloomy mood. Comforted.
Their feet brought them to his door despite their misgivings. It was the middle of the day, so they did not know how likely it was for him to be in, nor did they know what exactly they wanted. Baelun had left them horribly curious, but personal questions were always such a tightrope dance with Raphael. And it was not like he had stopped being angry about them keeping him from going to Baelun, either. If they wanted peace, they should probably not mention them at all.
They knocked before they could change their mind, then waited. Pondered about how miserable they felt doing so, how they had stood in front of this door so often and now they felt as far from themself as they had in a long time. Still, they came here.
The door did open eventually, and Raphael’s expression immediately soured at the sight of them. They could not help their lips twitching into a grin. Irritation was still a delightful look on his face.
“I really don't have time for you right now.”
“When do you ever have time as of late?” They pushed themself past him into the room, knowing that Raphael disliked speaking at the open door. “Anyway, I came only with a question, so you need not stress out about your precious time.”
He closed the door behind them, suspicion in his voice, “A question?”
They sighed. Was he getting more paranoid? “Relax, I promise the question is not a personal one.” They turned to face him. “I was wondering if you could teach me sign language?”
“Why don't you ask Baelun? You two are friends are you not?” There was such ire in his voice they wondered just how badly Raphael was itching for another sparring lesson. Or maybe Baelun’s fondness for him was not one-sided?
Either way, they gave an irritated sigh. “Don’t you think encouraging me to go where you do not want me to be is a bit counteractive?”
“And if I don't encourage you, will you stop?” his voice was hard.
“Of course not.”
His eyes near-blazing in fury, his hand, still on the doorknob, pulled the door open with more force than necessary. He pointed for them to leave with his other. “Then I suggest you go and learn from them while you're there anyway.”
They sighed, walked towards the exit, coming to a stop right beside him. Closer, maybe, than strictly necessary, but they just loved how irritated it made him to have to look up at them.
“Why does it really bother you so much that I speak to Baelun?” They asked, knowing full well that he would not answer. Knowing that did not make them less curious.
“Why do you keep asking? Just leave.”
They shook their head. “Fine. I will. I’m sure they’ll help me where you refuse.”
Raphael closed the door behind them loudly, and they couldn't help the pleasure at having vexed him so. At least they were not alone in their foul mood.
*
The library was crowded. It was fine. Good, even. Raphael had nothing to hide. Only something to test.
The books he was looking at were all familiar, and he had no desire to reread any of them. He barely had the time to read as of late, too busy trying his best in slowly but surely initiating contact with all he knew still loyal to his cause whilst also not missing any of the gatherings expecting him.
It was slow-going. It had to be to not draw attention. His letters had to read like just another piece of usual correspondence — he had, thankfully, kept regular contact with many of his allies — while getting the message across to be ready. It did not help that he had nothing concrete just yet. He would have to trust in Vys to let him know when the time had come.
He did not like that. Raphael had worked with her for long enough to trust her in this, but it irked him endlessly that it could not be him to go out and assess the situation. Trust was always second to the certainty of having seen the situation with one’s own eyes.
His mind suddenly went to Haarlep. How dare they get the privilege of leaving court after being in Mephistopheles' service for so little time? He could not deny the satisfaction of their mission evidently not having gone well, if their rather dark moods lately were to be believed. What had they expected? What had he? What had been the point of sending them, of all people?
Raphael still stood, quietly seething, when someone cleared their throat beside him. He did not jump, turned his head slightly to look at him. Relief doused some of his anger at the sight. Dalyn was leaning with his back against the shelf next to Raphael.
“I got your note,” he said, inspecting his nails, “I'm afraid it did slip out of my hand and into my hearth.”
Raphael could not help the slight grin pulling on his lips, satisfied that Dalyn had not only understood the instructions hidden in plain sight, but seemed to have followed them, too. “You evidently read enough of it to know where to meet me, so I shall excuse it.” For a moment, he held his gaze before turning back to the bookshelf, voice low, “It won't be the only one of its kind, I'm sure.”
“I hope not,” he hummed, maybe overdoing it just a little with the suggestive tone. Raphael did not know whether to laugh or shake his head. Dalyn cleared his throat, “So, which book did you wish me to see?”
Raphael met his gaze again with a grin, waved for him to follow, “Come along…”
Their meeting continued in the same vein as the ones before, Raphael very aware that his opposite would much rather be speaking openly, but restraining himself, taking every opportunity offered to come as close to it as possible without crossing the threshold into treason. Public as the library was — and well-visited, too — talking quietly about one book or another offered plenty of opportunity to make themselves understood to the other.
By the time Dalyn had to leave for some other engagement, Raphael felt fairly confident in him as an ally. He stayed a little longer in the not-so-quiet library, pondering who to contact next and how. Things would be so much easier if Vys would at least send him an update soon.
When he did leave at last after a while spent leisurely browsing, he took note of a familiar voice among the general whispers. He tried to look without turning around too obviously, found Haarlep standing by a nearby shelf in quiet but avid conversation with somebody Raphael had never seen. Was it a coincidence that they were here? Had Raphael been watched?
He frowned, and pushed on towards the door.
Raphael only wished he could focus. It was late enough to be early, and he would probably see the sunrise again today before going to sleep. It was becoming a much too common occasion.
His mind would not let him rest. He had returned from his last gathering with his mind full of doubts about his letter draft, and had proceeded to ignore his dinner to rework it. That had been hours ago. His table was still set, the food long gone cold, and he still had not eaten. He wasn’t even hungry, despite not eating at the gathering.
All he was was anxious about the words in front of him. It was a fine line to walk, to make it sound like their usual correspondence while making sure what he meant to say would be understood.
Usually, the mental gymnastics required for this delighted him. But when he knew that his chance of finally getting the crown depended on every message he sent being interpreted correctly, understood and followed, it lost all its pleasure. It needed to be perfect, and perfection was not easy to achieve, even for him.
It didn’t help that he had overheard talk of Mephistopheles having sent another party on some kind of excursion two days ago. It felt too soon. What did it mean? Raphael had gathered contradictory information of where they had left towards, so he could not even glean from that what his father might be doing.
He didn’t like it. He hated not knowing, and hated more still the awareness that any step towards acquiring said knowledge could lead to him losing everything he had built so far. The risk was simply too great right now, and Raphael despised it.
He wondered if Haarlep had left again, too. Seeing little of them lately had suited him well, busy as he was, but he could not deny that it was another change that left him suspicious. Why did Mephistopheles pull his attention away now? Was there a more pressing threat to keep an eye on? Was Raphael being baited?
With a frustrated groan he buried his face in his hands. Something cracked painfully in his back, and all he could think of were Haarlep’s hands working out whatever knots his long nights sitting had produced. He didn’t want them to come back. He wanted to focus. Annoying as they could be, he could not deny they had helped with that sometimes.
Not lately. They had developed a short temper since their return, and Raphael’s strained nerves were an ill match for it. He nearly found himself hoping for their absence, despite his occasional craving for those long, long fingers on his skin.
Raphael felt like he was losing his mind. He looked out of the window, ran both hands through his hair, pulling just a little, just to feel something that was not his spiralling thoughts. Was Baelun still awake? Of course not. He could wait until sunrise, and they would be awake again, he guessed. If Haarlep was gone it should be safe to meet them.
With a defeated sigh, Raphael got to his feet, glaring at the letter. Going to fighting practice on no sleep was a horrible idea. He had done it countless times before.
Raphael needed rest. Maybe a bath. Maybe in the morning the right words would come to him. Maybe they’d come to him fighting. Maybe tomorrow he could fucking focus.
His bed felt cold when he fell into it, and by the time sleep came the first rays of sunlight were brushing against the curtains of his bed’s canopy.
Notes:
i forgot how much of a Big Mood Raphael is in these chapters.
Chapter 20
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
A hot day had mellowed into a pleasant late afternoon, and Raphael was finally wandering the gardens alone. Not that he had minded the company earlier — a couple acquaintances he could nearly call friends — but Raphael tended to tire quickly of social interaction as of late.
He knew it had little to do with the company itself — knew, too, that some part of him felt as invigorated at being the centre of attention as ever — but rather with the fact that his mind could not stop thinking about the next step, could not stop worrying about him overlooking something, about some misplaced wording in a letter, about time running out, about something happening to Vys—
He halted in his steps, took a breath. Alone or not, his mind felt the same and he had been unable to escape it. His focus had gotten bad enough for Baelun to refuse him last time he had tried to find some peace fighting. The attempt before that one had very nearly ended in injury, so Raphael did not blame them for their rejection. But he had been too proud to accept their offer at helping them with some of their other tasks to decompress. Had he not grown at all since the time in his life he had helped them polish swords just to keep his anger at bay?
Everything just felt so tiring. Had it been the same last time? No. Last time, he had acted too rashly for the planning and preparing stage to feel this torturous. Was there no comfortable middle to be found?
Music pulled him out of his gloomy thoughts. A quiet, sad melody was being blown towards him by the light breeze, and Raphael followed it without really intending to. It was distraction, and he was in dire need of some.
The closer he came to the source, the clearer it became that whoever was playing was no master of their instrument. They were not bad by any means, and Raphael’s musical expertise was not really in flutes, but his ears could still tell that this was a committed amateur filling the more remote and wilder part of the gardens with this little tune.
He found said amateur after rounding up a particularly dense patch of bushes and low trees providing plenty of shade and privacy.
It was Haarlep, sitting crosslegged in the dry grass, dressed in the same greens and yellows of their surroundings, as if to blend in. Not that they were succeeding, their dark skin and darker hair radiant in the orange light of the slowly setting sun, their downturned lashes throwing intriguing, sun-dappled shadows across their cheeks. Absurdly, Raphael found himself wondering if he had ever seen their hair loose like this outside of his own room.
An inconsequential thought, one distracting from the fact that he had been standing there, frozen and gaping, for an embarrassing amount of time. Despite not interrupting their playing or giving any other sign, they must have sensed his presence by now. Raphael felt a little irked at being ignored. He had still not decided on whether the sight of them filled him with anger or relief.
“You’re back,” he said at last, interrupting their playing.
They looked up, flute still in hand and an overly pleasant smile on their lips. Something in their features seemed uncharacteristically tight. “I have been back for three days.”
“I haven't seen you.”
It was no accusation but they still raised an eyebrow, a familiar grin playing on their lips. “I didn't think you had much of a desire to see me.”
Raphael frowned. When had that ever stopped them? “I haven't.”
“Well, don't let me stop you.” They waved him away, “Go to your secret tryst or wherever you were headed.”
And then they simply resumed their playing. Raphael stood frozen at the insolence.
“What are you playing?” He demanded, less out of interest and more because he refused to be ignored like this.
“Just an old tune I picked up a while ago,” they said with a sigh before looking up at him. “Do you like it?”
“No.” He could not resist adding, “Maybe if it were being played better.”
Something happened with their face — that same brief something he had caught there when they had gifted him the drawing still hanging by his bed. Raphael felt a surge of triumph.
They lowered their gaze to the flute before he could name whatever it was, traced it idly with their thumb. “Ah, I guess I've been neglecting my practice…”
“Difficult to practise when you're so high in demand for outside missions,” he spat, unable to contain his anger at it.
They watched him levelly, “Precisely.”
“How did the last one go?” He mocked, taking much pleasure from seeing the answer so plainly in their features. They looked miserable.
“Much like the one before.” They did not look at him as they deflected, took care to set their flute to the side before turning back towards him. The grin on their lips was a little strained as they patted the grass beside them, “Since you seem disinclined to move and so eager to talk, why don't you sit down a bit.”
Raphael glared at them, and was still glowering when he sat down. He really should have simply left rather than take their bait. But had he not just recently wished for Haarlep’s distraction? Was it not preferable to be irritated at them than lost to his spiralling thoughts?
And it wasn’t like Raphael wasn’t intrigued by Haarlep’s current state. He had noticed their dark mood since their first outside mission, but the fact that it seemed to be getting worse was interesting. Usually, they had always taken such care at hiding the cracks. Now they seemed to be crumbling before his very eyes, and putting little effort in covering it up.
So he sat down. They shifted, pulling their knees up to rest their arms on top of them and prop their head up on top of them. For a moment, they simply watched him like that. The silence between them wasn't comfortable. Raphael wondered when it had last been.
“Do you have a book with you?” they suddenly asked.
He frowned in confusion. “No.”
“Ah” They sighed, holding his gaze. “I guess you wouldn't have read to me if you had.”
Raphael thought of the last peaceful morning between them. He was in no mood to indulge them. “Correct.”
So they sat for a while in barbed silence, neither being particularly happy to be there, nor inclined to leave. He noticed their pointed gaze, knew that his own lingering looks did not go unobserved. What was it about them he thought so distracting? Even just sitting quietly like this, his ire for their presence had silenced the mess of his thoughts.
He wondered if it was the same for them. Their expression was nigh impossible to read like this, closed where it usually was always animated.
Eventually, with an exaggerated sigh, Haarlep unfurled from their position, leaning fluidly into Raphael’s space. He watched them suspiciously, took note of their strained grin and fluttering eyelashes. Despite watching them so closely, he still froze when their hand came to rest on his thigh. Though maybe what he felt was closer to anticipation than surprise.
Their grin was still not quite right, but their voice was smooth as honey as they hummed, “If you don't want me to play but also won't read to me you should help me occupy my hands otherwise, don't you think?”
He held very still as their fingers spread out on his leg, dug slightly into his flesh. His breath did not stutter, and his mouth did not feel very dry very suddenly. Raphael was calm.
“Should I?”
They pulled themself closer still, brought their lips to his ear, “If you want to.”
When had his nose last been filled with Haarlep’s intoxicating scent? Instead of responding, he turned his head and kissed them, burying a hand in their hair to keep them there. Not that Haarlep seemed particularly inclined to pull back. They kissed back with dizzying fervour, desperation, sliding into his lap to deepen the kiss, nip at his bottom lip to coax his mouth open.
Raphael welcomed it, their overwhelming heat and firm hands as they pushed him onto his back leaving very little space for his mind to wander. He put his hands into their hair, savoured its smoothness against his knuckles and opened his mouth for their probing tongue. He could feel their fingers pulling at his necktie and their knee pushing his legs apart and Raphael thrilled at their desperation, pressed himself into their every touch with equal abandon.
It wasn’t long before his neck was bare, skin too hot against the cooling evening air, too sensitive when Haarlep’s fangs skimmed over his arched throat. Raphael was beginning to realise just how loud he was breathing, how every noise of pleasure from his lips split the relative quiet around them now that Haarlep’s mouth was no longer there to swallow it.
It took him a moment to find his tongue — Haarlep had slid one clawed hand beneath both doublet and shirt, doing their very best at making clinging to a single coherent thought nigh impossible — and when he finally did, his breathlessness only made the flush in his face deepen, “Haarlep—”
They pulled away, and the grin on their face looked very nearly as it used to when they met his eyes, “Not here, I know…” They hummed, disappointment exaggerated in their voice. “Come to mine?”
There was just the slightest edge to their tone, playfulness tinged with something closer to a plea. Disturbing as it was to hear, Raphael could not fault them. He was not ready to return to tense silence and barbed words, and a mind full of worries.
“My rooms are closer,” Raphael mumbled, trying to stay quiet enough to not sound so out of breath. He did not want to admit that returning to their room felt wrong. It was not how this was done.
Haarlep shrugged without disputing his assessment — despite it having little truth to it — sat up and smoothed their hair and shirt. Raphael did the same, albeit slower, looking around for the cloth they had removed from his neck earlier, disoriented and too hot and a little unsteady.
The grin was audible in Haarlep’s voice, “Allow me.”
They did not wait for his assent before beginning to dress him. Raphael did not dare to speak as their nimble fingers worked, watched them impatiently even as he pondered how they were as efficient at this as they were at taking his clothes off. At last, they combed both hands through his hair, slicking it back again and smoothing it down. As they pulled away, their knuckle brushed against his cheek with a grin. “Nobody will notice the pretty blush in the dark.”
For something that sounded so much like a reassurance, their tone was all tease. When they got to their feet and offered him their hand, he took it, but let it go as they began their way back towards the buildings.
The silence that settled over them as their panting calmed down was tense. Raphael was surprised. He hadn't thought he'd have any energy left to be tense after they were done with him.
Haarlep was clinging to him. With one leg between his own, and their arm thrown across his chest, their face was being pressed into his shoulder. Technically, Raphael didn't mind. Their tension was very palpable with them so close, though, and only getting worse. It was putting him in an ill mood, so soon after he had felt something akin to relaxed. He would have liked to linger in that quiet space before reality truly settled.
“I should go,” they eventually mumbled, and Raphael said nothing. They were right. As much as he enjoyed their warmth this would only end in more barbed words.
Idly, Raphael wondered what had happened to the quiet comfort of their silence. It didn't seem that long ago since it had fallen naturally into their wordless space.
They untangled themself with their usual irritating elegance, and Raphael watched them slip back into their clothes. They did not look back as they walked through the bedroom door.
*
They didn't know what had happened. The time they had spent with Raphael in the past had not always gone smoothly, but it had never been this difficult before. And it had never been their fault.
It was impossible to fully shake their sour mood. Whenever they seemed to manage some respite for it, their mind wandered back to their past reports or the dread of their upcoming ones and they spiralled all over again.
And yet they did not think it was only their fault that time spent in Raphael’s presence was tense, words exchanged too sharp and often getting loud fast.
He was more tense as of late, too. It was difficult to grasp such a thing even being possible, but they were sure of it. He was absent often, a wariness about him once he snapped himself back into reality that had not been there before.
Or well, it hadn't been this pronounced.
The change was noticeable enough that they wondered if it'd be worth telling Mephistopheles. They could probably include it even though he never asked about Raphael. Such evident differences in behaviour at court was after all most of what seemed to interest their master.
And yet they did not. Even when walking into that dreaded room, telling themself they would do it — that maybe that would at long last stir their master to consider their freedom — they never did. They weren't sure why. After all, Raphael seemed desperate for his father's attention. They'd probably be doing him a favour.
But they could not. He was all they had left that was not in some way stained by their master’s presence. Every meeting with Lythil and her pet had that strange tension in the beginning to it still, and they felt something like grief for how it had felt before. It had not been worth it.
So they didn't do it. It tempted them regularly, especially after Raphael had been cruel or annoying to them, but the moment they faced those hard eyes that looked so much like Raphael’s, their determination went out of them.
The decision was a selfish one, had nothing to do with protecting Raphael. At least they believed so.
So days stretched into weeks and nothing changed. They followed their tasks in something like a haze, too aware of how they were trying to find anything to please Mephistopheles to enjoy any of the interactions they were having. When had they last felt so trapped?
They always found themself back at Raphael’s door. They could not help it. He still felt like the furthest point from his father, and they needed him to breathe.
It mattered little that things were more tense between them. It was still a relief from everything else.
Still, they did not enjoy the changes, did not like how quickly things got loud between them now. Their nerves were too strained not to react to his provocations, and they could not help provoking, either, desperate to find the usual playfulness and failing, settling instead for the schadenfreude of at least not being the only one miserable in the room.
Notes:
you must imagine me sweating, for i only have 5 more chapters pre-written-