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October 1196, Heimdallr
Rufus meets with His Excellency at the opera, a casual encounter between two acquaintances. His Excellency invites him to his box at the interval to discuss falconry. When Rufus does slide in, he's welcomed by a low command of, "Report, Jade Rook."
He obeys and is rewarded with a, "Very well done."
It is as satisfying as always. He should be careful—the Chancellor's approval is more heady than any wine, and it would be dangerous to become addicted.
The Chancellor adds, "I have more for you to do, but firstly, you are likely to receive an invitation to a party I cannot attend. The guest list is unusual and the conversations that arise may be enlightening."
"I shall report back on what I hear."
The second half of the opera is magnificent as usual, at least until it is marred by the eruption on stage of Prince Olivert Reise Arnor in full costume and ready to sing. It is saved by the newest soloist, who arches one perfect eyebrow at him, and turns her solo into an undeniably pleasing duet.
Rufus encounters his highness on the way out. Olivert is being more dragged away than escorted by the constant Vander.
"Rufus Albarea," Olivert greets him, loudly enough that heads turn. "It has been an age."
"I'm sure it's only been a month," Rufus points out. "The opening of the new Imperial Portrait Gallery. The one where you revealed that you had posed for three of the nudes and the artists resorted to hair pulling over who had a right to call you their muse."
Olivert waves his hand airily. "Oh, that. A mere passing encounter. I miss our school days, Rufus—the clash of wits and swords, the straining endeavour of schoolboy rivalry, the thrusting, er, innocence of..."
He has clearly lost control of his innuendo. Rufus takes pity on him and says, "A mere few months, and yet it seems a lifetime ago."
Olivert claps his hand to his heart. "Ah, and that a lifetime of pining. I trust life has treated you well after graduation." There's a sharpness about him suddenly, an implied question about Rufus, his father, the whole state of Kreuzen.
"I cannot complain. I have yet to reach your state of notoriety, though. I hear they're calling you the Debaucherous Prince these days."
Olivert, who despite his mixed parentage seems to have been born entirely without shame, twinkles at him. "A marvellous moniker, don't you think? Would you like to know how I earned it?"
It's delivered with a salacious wink. Rufus, whose acquaintance with Olivert outside of the classroom has mainly consisted of duelling or fucking, raises his eyebrow in return.
The constant Vander says, "No. Absolutely not. Do you two idiots really need reminding of how this always ends?"
"Ah, Mueller, you're no fun."
"I've had enough of your fun for one evening. You were too busy flirting with divas to have to listen to the Director of the Opera House have hysterics."
"It's so sad when creative people lack flexibility," Olivert observes and turns back to Rufus. "Another time, perhaps, since Mueller is being so staid. Which reminds me, I am planning a quite delightful party."
Well, the Chancellor, as always, is ahead of the game. "I'm intrigued. Your parties are always memorable."
"Ah, but this is not my party. I am a mere facilitator, and you are not invited, as such. You have a younger brother, do you not? He's how old now?"
"Nine." What is Olivert up to and why is Jusis being dragged into this?
"Perfect. He is therefore invited to celebrate Cedric and Alfin's birthday. You may accompany him, of course, but no adults will be admitted unless they are in the company of an invited child."
Rufus narrows his eyes. The problem with Olivert is that it's almost impossible to distinguish between his cunning and his idiocy. This could be a careful plan to exclude the Chancellor from a significant royal event, or it could just be the result of Olivert's sudden whim to host a children's party.
Nonetheless, it will be a valuable opportunity for his small brother to form some political connections. Better still, it will get Jusis out of Bareahard and away from their father's scrutiny for a day. He might even make a friend.
He bows to Olivert and says, "In that case, I am delighted to accept on Jusis' behalf."
"We'll see you there." Olivert starts away, and Rufus overhears him plaguing the constant Vander with a cry of, "Mueller, you have a brother too!"
Olivert has somehow taken over the whole of Mater Park for this party. There are guardsmen everywhere, white uniforms gleaming in the sunlight, an entire marquee full of white draped tables, each with a gaudy table topper shaped like a rearing stallion, and, because subtlety has never been one of Olivert's virtues, copious bunting in the Arnor colours forming the young prince and princess’ initials.
Jusis stops dead at the sight of it. "This is..."
Rufus explains, "Extravagance is a power in its own right."
Jusis nods solemnly. Rufus is quite gratified by that. He was not initially delighted to be presented with a younger sibling, but Jusis is quite rewarding. Regular praise and attention are enough to earn his loyalty, and his serious approach to life is quite entertaining. Rufus has become rather fond of him.
Behind him, a cool voice says, "Lord Rufus Albarea, I believe? I was hoping to have a chance to speak with you this afternoon. Our Kreuzen office has some urgent questions."
Rufus bows politely. He was not expecting to encounter Irina Reinford this afternoon but networking is what parties were invented for. He wonders what child she has dragged along to gain admittance, and then notices the small girl stomping along in her shadow. The resemblance is remarkable.
"Have you met my brother Jusis, Ms Reinford? Jusis, do escort young Miss Reinford in."
Jusis shoots him a look of horror, which Rufus blithely ignores. This may be the first party Jusis has attended since they took him in, but he may as well start as Rufus means him to go on.
"Alisa, go ahead," Irina says impatiently. "Play nicely."
With that, she turns back to Rufus, her daughter clearly forgotten.
Jusis bows stiffly to Alisa, who is biting her lip and swallowing hard. They walk ahead in stiff silence.
Irina Reinford is not the only commoner in attendance, and Rufus can see now why the Chancellor described the guest list as 'interesting.' There are several Imperial uniforms among the various gathered parents, a few plain suits and an amusing array of noble fashions.
Behind them, with the approximate volume of a small foghorn, someone bellows, "Alisa!"
As Rufus watches a small purple force of destruction barges past them, wraps her arms around Alisa, glowers at Jusis and declares, “Unhand my friend, varlet."
Alisa's still wobbly pout transforms into a smile. "Oh, Angelica. He was just walking me in."
Lady Angelica can somehow wear a perfectly fitting dress in such a way to imply she has been stuffed into it against her will, an effect further enhanced by the fact that what was clearly intended to be the sash is tightly knotted around her head. She draws herself up to sneer at poor Jusis. "You don't need some boy to escort you to a party."
A familiar voice bellows from across the park, "Angelica Rogner, you will come right back here and make an effort to be ladylike, or so help me, Aidios!"
"Better run," Lady Angelica advises, grabbing Alisa's hand. They're gone before Irina can put her scowl into words.
Trust a Rogner to make an entrance.
“If you’ll excuse me, Lord Rufus, I’ve no need to speak with Marquis Rogner any further this week. Can I ask for my people to contact yours directly?”
“Of course. I hope we will have a chance for a longer meeting later in the week.”
She makes no attempt to follow her daughter.
Rufus fixes a smile on his face and turns to greet Rogner.
“You here, young Rufus? Your father not up for it?”
“Prince Olivert was a classmate of mine at Thors. My father was happy for me to continue the acquaintance.”
Rogner snorts. “I’m sure. Pair of handsome young devils like you—no doubt you had plenty of adventures.”
“Discretion forbids, Lord Rogner.”
Rogner lets out a crack of laughter. “Don’t suppose you saw where that damned hoyden of a daughter of mine went?”
"I'm afraid I didn't see her direction," Rufus lies smoothly.
Rogner huffs and stomps away. Rufus sighs. This hasn't quite been how he intended to introduce Jusis to the great and good in Erebonian society. He looks down on his brother who is wide eyed and looking like he's ready to bolt for home.
Rufus puts a hand on his shoulder and steers him deeper into the park. "Don't let Lady Angelica disturb you. She simply has a certain strength of personality which is not unusual in her family. Incidentally, was there a reason you didn't speak to Miss Alisa?"
"I didn't know what to say and I had no wish to offend her. It seemed better to stay quiet."
"Generally, it's safe to greet them and compliment their outfit."
Jusis' mouth goes stubborn. "What if I didn't like her outfit?"
Clearly, they still have some way to go.
The Crystal Garden is still sealed shut when they arrive at his doors, awaiting the arrival of the main guests. Some of the children clearly know each other already, or have overcome their shyness, because the conversation is getting louder. A small lilac-haired girl flies past at full screech, pursued by an obvious pest—the Florald daughter and one of the interchangeable Sutherland boys, if Rufus' memory serves him right.
"Ah, Lord Rufus, have you met my daughter?"
Rufus turns to greet Victor Arseid—the breadth of Olivert's acquaintance is astonishing. "I have not yet had the privilege, Lady Laura. Rufus Albarea, at your service." He nudges Jusis forward. "Introduce yourself."
"Jusis Albarea." With an obvious effort, he adds. "Good morning, Lady Laura. Your dress is very decorative."
Lady Laura looks down at her dress with a puzzled frown. "I suppose it serves its purpose. More importantly, Lord Jusis, I hear the Albareas excel when it comes to court fencing. Do you wield a sword yourself?"
Victor Arseid clears his throat. "Laura, it is generally appropriate to establish the other person's interest before you launch into your own enthusiasm."
Jusis says mulishly, "I do like swords."
Rufus meets Arseid's amused gaze with a sigh of his own.
They are interrupted by a lute riff from above.
Imperial Prince Olivert Reise Arnor is posed on the roof of the Crystal Garden, lute in hand and rose between his teeth. Someone in the crowd starts to clap and the applause grows. Rufus sighs and adds his own soft hand clap, for the sake of propriety.
Olivert spreads his hands in acknowledgement (really, what is his Vander thinking to let him up there alone?), spits out his rose, and proclaims, "Ladies, gentlemen, and accompanying adults, I hereby welcome you to this grand celebration of the seventh anniversary of the birth of my beloved siblings, Prince Cedric Reise Arnor and Princess Alfin Reise Arnor. Now let the celebrations begin!"
And there is the constant Vander, making his way across the roof a rege at a time, with an expression like thunder.
Prince Olivert breaks into music again, and the doors swing open to reveal the royal twins and the most prodigious birthday cake Rufus has ever seen—it is taller and wider than Alfin and Cedric combined, and every child in the crowd oohs at the sight of it.
It's probably better they’re all distracted as the constant Vander is currently dragging Olivert off the roof by the collar.
Alfin bounces on her heels, throwing her arms open in welcome. Cedric waves shyly. Alfin says, with more self-possession than any seven year old he’s ever met, “Please, everyone, come in and play with us!”
The marvellously resolute Lady Laura marches forward, Jusis in tow. Rufus follows at a more leisurely pace.
By the time he’s done a full circle of the cake, noted the truly horrendous quantities of sweets and snacks piled on the tables, and noted with relief that some more sophisticated food has been provided for adults in the east room, Jusis is at his elbow again.
“Did you lose Lady Laura?” Rufus inquires.
“She met a Schleiden and a Vander. I like swords, but not that much.”
Rufus sighs. “We’ve come all this way. You really must socialise with somebody.”
“I don’t care for socialising.”
“Nonetheless.” Rufus looks around for inspiration. There is a child bouncing on his toes in front of one of the many string quartets (really, what is wrong with Olivert?). He is very small and very ginger and Rufus doesn’t recognise him, so he’s likely a commoner. Still, needs must. Rufus pastes on his best child-charming face, the one that usually works on Jusis, and says, “Good afternoon, young sir. May I introduce to you my brother Jusis Albarea?”
Small and ginger jumps and beams at them. “Hi. I’m Elliot. I like your shirt.”
Jusis shoots Rufus a look of betrayal.
It doesn’t seem to faze Elliot. “Isn’t the music good? I love music. We met Prince Olivert earlier and he said we’re going to play musical chairs later and then when he was gone my sister said that was a ridiculous use of a string quartet and my dad said that that’s the way royalty does it and…”
Rufus may have to seek out the young man’s sister. It sounds like she may be the only sane person here.
Jusis is looking increasingly frantic. He hasn’t got a word in edgeways yet.
“…and my dad’s in the army. What does your dad do?”
“He is the Duke of Kreuzen.”
“Wow. Is a duke more important than a colonel?”
Rufus interjects, “Alas, in terms of rank, yes, but in terms of hard work most certainly not.”
Jusis glares daggers.
Elliot says happily, “My dad works very hard. Is he your dad?”
“He’s my brother,” Jusis corrects.
“I haven’t got a brother. He looks much older than my sister and she’s old enough that she doesn’t like playing with me so much these days. Does he play much?”
“Certainly not,” Jusis says, looking horrified.
“It’s an affliction of old age,” Rufus tells them. “Now, why don’t you both go and partake of some of those, uh, remarkable concoctions.” The jelly is glittering ominously. Rufus has fought less menacing monsters.
He makes a deliberate retreat and finds himself contemplating the monstrous cake again.
“I’m not sure even this many children are going to make a dent in that,” a wry voice observes.
“I fear we shall all be importuned into taking home leftovers,” Rufus says.
He knows of this man, though they’ve never met. Interesting that Olivert has lighted upon him for this bizarre carnival. Has Olivert simply listed everyone of the slightest note with a suitably aged child or is there some hidden purpose here? He says, wary of what he’s not supposed to know, “Regnitz, is it? The governor’s office.”
Regnitz blinks. “Well, I wasn’t expecting you to know that. Carl Regnitz, and you’re Lord Rufus Albarea, I believe?”
“At your service. I hear your name with frequency. My father is increasingly entrusting me with our province’s connections with the rest of the Empire. I would certainly welcome some ongoing conversations with the governor’s office.”
Regnitz’s mouth quirks. “I’m sure you would. Tell me, is this why Prince Olivert has invited such a range of guests today?”
“Reading his highness’ mind is far beyond my abilities.”
An all-too obnoxious voice rings out behind him. “But Albarea, you know it would be a place resounding with infinite delight and adventure, the like of which you would not see again.”
The constant Vander rolls his eyes and mutters, “Resounding with echoes, on account of its emptiness.”
Olivert pouts. “Cruel Mueller. My heart weeps. Now, wonderful as it is to make new friends, you gentlemen seem to have mislaid your escorts. Where is your charming son, Mr Regnitz? And Rufus’ no-doubt delightful brother?”
Regnitz says, with that same dry note, “My not-so charming son is hiding behind the chess board trying to glare someone into playing against him.”
“Let us hope my brother finds him soon. He is quite aggrieved at me for making him socialise. A game of chess might soothe him.” Unfortunately, Rufus strongly suspects Jusis is hiding under a table by now. Nonetheless, a chess board might tempt him out.
“Clearly a match made in heaven,” Prince Olivert decides. “We may be about to witness the beginning of a friendship for the ages.”
Rufus is dubious. From his expression, so is Regnitz. On the other hand, Jusis seems to have found the quiet corner with the board games and is lurking in its vicinity. There’s a small, scowling version of Regnitz sat behind the chess board with his arms crossed. So far, Rufus’ attempts to find Jusis a friend have been unsuccessful. Perhaps he should just let him take the lead this time.
They are interrupted by a small voice. “Good afternoon, Kurt’s brother. Do you know where Kurt is?”
Princess Alfin is a vision in a frilly dress. Rufus has never seen someone put so much conscious effort into appearing angelic. He wonders what she’s up to. Because this sounds like the start of something amusing, he offers, “I believe he was playing with Lady Laura Arseid and Lady Jessica Schleiden.”
“Thank you very much, Lord Rufus. I’ll go get him now.”
Olivert says, “Ah, Alfin, my precious birthday girl, before you go, what do you want poor Kurt for this time?”
“We need him to go on an adventure with us. We can’t go on an adventure without Kurt.”
“And does Kurt want to go on an adventure?”
“That’s why we need to find him. To ask.”
The constant Vander’s eyes are narrowed, “Define adventure.”
“We’re just going exploring. We won’t even go out of the park. I promise.”
Olivert hums. “That sounds lovely, my dearest. However…”
Vander starts, ticking the list off on his fingers, “No adventures in the water, no adventures climbing on any rooftops or up any walls, ladders or trees, no matter how low you consider them, no adventures which involve anyone else doing any of those things for you, no adventures involving mud, oil, fire, contests to see who can be sick first, swords, spears, any form of projectile weapon, or borrowing anyone’s combat orbment for any purpose.”
“Of course not, Kurt’s brother,” Alfin says earnestly, as Rufus eyes her with new respect.
“What did I miss?” the Vander asks Olivert.
“Very little. However… Alfin, my precious, is this the sort of adventure I would approve of?”
She clasps her hands before her and rocks back on her heels with a thoughtful expression, before raising her eyes to her brother’s face. “Oh, no, Olivert. You’d think it was boring.”
“Fine,” the Vander mutters, “but bring Kurt back in one piece this time.”
“Yay!” The princess rushes off. Rufus watches her go in amusement.
“The place is swarming with guards,” he points out. “How much trouble can they possibly find?”
Olivert and Vander exchange looks. Olivert says, “Ah, what a joy it must be to have a well-behaved younger sibling.”
Vander snorts. “In fairness, Kurt would be sitting happily at the chessboard if left to his own devices.”
“This is true,” Olivert admits with a sigh and gestures to where Jusis has finally joined the small Regnitz and is clearly considering his next move. “If only such calmness characterised my own dear…”
Carl Regnitz says sharply, “Oh, damnation. Machias—“
He isn’t fast enough. As Rufus watches in horror, Regnitz Minor surges to his feet and breaks the board in two over Jusis’ head. Jusis, who has clearly reached the end of his endurance, retaliates by trying to shove the black queen up Regnitz Minor’s nose.
Olivert collapses into laughter, hanging onto the Vander for support. Rufus ignores him and goes to help Carl Regnitz separate their warring charges. By the time he gets there, Jusis is spluttering about, “Four-eyed idiots,” and Regnitz Minor is pulling Jusis’ hair and calling him, “a pompous noble twit.”
“Machias Regnitz, let him go.”
Rufus borrows a tone of voice from his father and makes every syllable icy. “Jusis Albarea, you shame your name.”
Jusis snaps upright and then bolts. Rufus gives Regnitz an apologetic look and says, “My apologies for my brother. Perhaps we could speak at a more civilised time?”
“Oh, I think the apologies are due from our side,” Regnitz says.
“You didn’t hear what he said to me!” his son protests from under Regnitz’s arm.
Rufus makes them both his bow and goes after Jusis.
He finds him at the far end of the park, stalking up and down and occasionally kicking a tree. He turns on his heel when Rufus arrives and says, “I hate parties. I want to leave.”
“Alas, since it is being held for those who outrank us, we must endure until they have opened their gifts.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Sadly, we do not live in an egalitarian country.”
Jusis scowls at him. Rufus smiles back. Being an older brother is so entertaining.
“Fine. Then can we leave?”
“Certainly, once you have made your apologies to young Regnitz.”
“He started it. I was trying to be nice.”
“It remains irrelevant. You are an Albarea. We do not continue what others started—what we have not chosen wisely to instigate is below us.”
Jusis frowns at that too. “You say that, but father—“
“Is neither the first nor the last of our name. Some traditions endure beyond the individual.”
Jusis doesn’t seem to like that answer either. To spare him the existential doubt, Rufus asks, “What exactly did you say to him? My compliments rarely get that reaction.”
“I just said he was a very good player for someone of common birth. You say that to me all the time.”
Rufus drops his face into his hand and sighs. On consideration, perhaps another year in Bareahard is needed before they attempt social interaction again. That said, he does bear some responsibility here. “Very well. We will leave as soon as it is polite to do so. I insist on the apology, though, Jusis.”
Jusis goes back to kicking trees. Rufus sighs. What a world this is, where old manners war with a changing society. Looking across the gathered dignitaries, he sees the future—a future Olivert, in his scattered brilliance, clearly sees too. This is no longer a world the nobility dominate, though many will cling with desperation to what power remains. Others will find new purpose—there will always be some need for the skills of a Vander or Arseid. Increasingly, though, it will be this new sharp class that takes over—the Reinfords and the Regnitzes will eventually inherit the Empire. What his father and those like him cannot see is that the nobility is already on its deathbed. Epstein’s revolution killed them all—they simply do not know it yet.
The four great houses are doomed. Hyarms may have many sons, on both sides of the blanket, but he is so indecisive as to be useless; Rogner has one wild daughter already bucking at the reins; House Cayenne is riven with infighting and scheming—even Croire’s small niece is tightly controlled and not entirely safe in her maternal grandfather’s charge, and Croire has no issue of his own; his own father has two bastard sons, both of whom he loathes in their own way. There is no one there to lead them out of the coming war and, more importantly, its aftermath.
If anything of them survives, it will be those like Olivert and Jusis who form a new nobility. The old is doomed, and the question is simply whether to dispatch it with swift mercy or let it linger in agony, and what, if anything, to save from the ruins. He doesn’t think even he is guaranteed a place in that new world, the one the Chancellor promises him is coming.
“I am ready to go back now.” Jusis has his shoulders squared. “And I will apologise, if I must.”
“Well done.” Rufus doesn’t entirely trust him not to bolt so he puts a hand on his shoulder and steers him back. They meet Olivert and the constant Vander on the way.
“Ah, Rufus and young Jusis. All calm again, one hopes. I don’t suppose you’ve seen my sister in your wanderings? Or my brother? Or Mueller’s brother, for that matter? They have suddenly become very elusive.”
Vander growls, “I told you, we have to look outside the park.”
“But Alfin promised, and much as she adores a loophole, she never breaks a direct promise.”
“Are they lost?” Rufus asks.
Olivert waves an airy hand, but he is tense under his nonsense. “Not so much lost as temporarily mislaid.”
Jusis says, “I saw them go down the steps.”
“Which steps?” the Vander growls.
Jusis takes a step back into Rufus’ shadow. Rufus bestows his haughtiest stare on the Vander. Then Jusis says, “The ones going underground. Under the bandstand.”
“Under—?” Rufus asks.
Olivert and the Vander look at each other and say in horrified unison, “The underground passageways!”
They take off at a run. Rufus isn’t sure what they mean, but he knows a crisis when he sees one. He says to Jusis, “Get backup. Ask anyone in a uniform.” He waits only long enough to see Jusis is heading for the main party at speed before he takes off after the others.
He catches up with them at the bottom of the steps under the bandstand. This is indeed a passageway, one thick with dust and heavy cobwebs, moths fluttering around the orbal lights. Olivert and his Vander are already fighting a group of filthy rats. Rufus draws his sword and goes to their assistance. When they’re done, the Vander nods at him and says, “Help appreciated. Olivert, fall back and provide arts support.”
“Gladly. Good to have you, Rufus.”
“More help is on its way. Shall we?”
He’s fought with these two before, on the practice grounds at Thors, and what is exhilarating there has an extra thrill when it is truly urgent. They rush deeper into the tunnels, obliterate more rats and fat, vicious bats.
“There!” Olivert cries, pointing down a side passage. Now he’s drawn their attention, Rufus can hear it too—childish sobs echoing from deeper within.
They find the imperial twins installed on a high shelf. They are both crying, Princess Alfin with her arms clutched around her brother. In front of them, the littlest Vander is standing at the top of a ladder, wielding what appears to be an increasingly gnawed stick as he attempts to fend off a sharkodile snapping at them from below.
The Vander roars, “Ragna Bind!” and blazes forward. Behind him, the air prickles as Prince Olivert builds towards an art. Rufus unleashes Soul Slicer and prepares his next move as Olivert’s White Gehenna comes rising up around them.
The monster collapses into a faint and it only takes three more strikes to finish it.
“Olivert!” Princess Alfin wails as it vanishes. “You came for us!”
“Always, my dearest,” Olivert declares, tucking his rifle away.
“Stand down, Kurt,” the Vander says, his voice gentle. “Well done.”
The littlest Vander’s shoulders slump and his lip wobbles, but holds.
Olivert scrambles up the ladder and passes one tearful child after another down to the Vander. Once they are all huddled on the ground, he hops down, crosses his arms and says, very sternly, “Alfin, to clarify—under the park counts as outside the park.”
“I’m sorry, Olivert. We didn’t mean to meet a monster.”
“I’m sure. You should not be apologising to me, however. Kurt put himself at risk to keep you safe.”
Prince Cedric scrubs his face and says, “I’m sorry, Kurt. Say you’re still be our friend.”
Princess Alfin throws her arms around the littlest Vander and proclaims, “I’m sorrier. Say you still love us, Kurt. I’ll share my birthday cake with you.”
Olivert blinks. “Um, Alfin, did you not realise you were sharing that cake with everyone? It’s not just for the two of you.”
Contrition is swiftly wiped away by indignation. “But it’s our cake, Olivert!”
Prince Cedric nods vigorously through his tears.
The Vander mutters, “Goddess help us, what were they going to do? Crawl through it one bite at a time?” He lifts his voice to a more serious note. “So, before we get to the cake, whose idea was this?”
Princess Alfin droops. The littlest Vander and the prince exchange glances and then both pipe up.
“Mine.”
“I thought of it, Mueller.”
The princess stamps her foot. “You did not. You know it was my idea. That’s how it works. I think of things, Cedric does them, and then Kurt saves us from them.”
Really, Rufus doesn’t know how Olivert keeps a straight face. Or, on an entirely different note, how any Vander makes it through an Arnor childhood in one piece.
Olivert says, very seriously, “I don’t think that’s being a good friend to Kurt, is it, Alfin?”
She hugs Kurt even tighter. “I’m even sorrier, Kurt.”
Kurt looks like he can’t breathe.
Olivert continues valiantly, “And look at all these other people who have come to save you. I think they all deserve to have cake before you. If there is any left at the end, you may take your share.”
That cake would feed a small battalion for a week. Clearly her highness does not realise this, because she wails, “But my cake, Olivert!”
“You can have mine,” Prince Cedric whispers.
Olivert’s frown is definitely about to collapse into laughter. “I’m sorry, Cedric, did you try to stop her? No, I thought not. You will also be waiting for your cake.”
The Vander growls, “You too, Kurt. Your job isn’t to follow them into danger—it’s to stop them getting there. Aw, not the tears.” The wobbly lip has finally given way.
Rufus clears his throat. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation on the surface, where there are presents and the eventual possibility of said much-anticipated cake?”
They end up with a sobbing child each. Rufus takes the princess, who seems more upset by the loss of her cake than the monsters. By the time they meet three members of the Imperial Army coming the other way, she is almost back to her previous levels of self-possession.
“We’ll check the tunnels for more monsters and seal them up when we’re done,” the red-haired behemoth in the lead offers. “Can’t have them running free around the children.”
“We’re heading for cake and presents,” Olivert says.
The Vander snorts. “Speak for yourself. I’m heading for the head of the security team and having him explain to me why these tunnels weren’t safely sealed off in the first place.”
The red-haired colonel cracks his knuckles. “Leave enough of him for me, Captain Vander. I most definitely want a word when you’re done.”
“I bet Kurt’s brother’s going to tell him off really loudly,” Alfin says and waves at the soldier. “Hello, Elliot’s Dad. Look, Lord Rufus is carrying me back to the party. Isn’t he pretty?”
Rufus smiles at her in gratification. “Naturally, your highness, you are much prettier.”
“I like him!”
The Vander mutters, “Dear Goddess, Olivert, teach your sister some standards.”
Back on the surface, they let the children go running back to the party. Olivert promptly turns his back, so they can’t see his face, and collapses into laughter. Rufus gives in and joins him. Once they’re finally calm, Rufus manages, “So, that was exciting.”
“My deepest gratitude,” Olivert says, hand warm on his arm. “I truly appreciate your help.”
“Oh, really?” Rufus’ blood is still up, and they’re finally not surrounded by children. He catches Olivert’s eye and very slowly licks his lips.
Olivert sidles closer.
“Do I have to knock your idiot heads together? This is a children’s party.” Oh, the Vander is still here.
Olivert winks at him. “Another time, then. Want some help rearranging the security chief’s intestines, Mueller, my love?”
“Go and play with the other children. I’ve got this.”
Rufus escorts Olivert back to the party, where he seeks out his brother, only to find Jusis sporting a fresh black eye. On looking around, he can’t help noticing that Regnitz Minor appears to have quite coincidentally broken his glasses.
Jusis says intensely, “I find I am not an admirer of apologies, brother. I do not like their consequences.”
Rufus can only hope the cake—and their subsequent departure—arrives soon.
It’s another week before he can catch up with Olivert. Jusis is safely restored to Bareahard, his father has been fobbed off with some acceptable anecdotes about Angelica Rogner and Laura Arseid, and Rufus is pursuing a tentative friendship with Carl Regnitz based on their shared chagrin over their small relatives’ mutual loathing.
He and Olivert have spent the afternoon putting the newly renovated penthouse suite at the Der Himmel to good use. Olivert is drowsing now, sprawled across the sheets in glorious nudity, the low light of sunset slanting through the window to wash him in gold. There’s something infuriating about the way someone can be simultaneously so ridiculous and so beautiful.
Rufus is content to just watch him. They have been rivals, bed partners, never quite friends, but even this cannot happen many more times. He has his duties, to his father and the chancellor, intertwined and conflicting, always in need of perfect balance. He cannot afford this as well.
As for Olivert—well, the chancellor may not consider him a threat, but Rufus knows better. Right now, Olivert is a vainglorious wildcard—brilliant, chaotic and restless. Should he ever find his purpose, though…
There is a chance that Olivert will one day be the most dangerous man Rufus knows.
Of course, if all goes as he has planned, that will go both ways.
Olivert stirs, murmuring, and blinks his way awake. “You seem to be brooding, Albarea.”
Rufus raises an eyebrow. “As if I’d do something so crass and common.”
Olivert snorts. “Aidios forbid. Don’t suppose you’d be crass and common enough to suck my cock, then?”
Rufus smiles. “I am certain that cock-sucking is a very noble pursuit.”
Olivert pushes up, laughing, and Rufus bends down to meet him. For what may well be the last time, they go rolling across the sheets, as the autumn sun sets slowly over the Vermillion Capital.