Chapter Text
Oletus Manor was bathed in a warm, golden glow, the faint crackle of the fireplace providing a backdrop to the delicate clinking of silverware. A tall candelabra stood at the center of the long table, its flames reflecting in the polished mahogany surface. The scent of roasted pheasant and caramelized shallots filled the air, mingling with the faint, earthy sweetness of the wine in their glasses.
Orpheus sat at the head of the table, leaning back in his chair with a languid confidence. His sharp eyes flicked across the table as he raised his glass in a toast, his tone rich with good humour. “To good company and better wine,” he declared, his grin widening as his gaze settled on Frederick at the opposite end. “Mr. Kreiburg, I trust the vintage meets your standards?”
Frederick barely glanced up from his plate, his posture composed and deliberate as he reached for his glass. “It’s adequate,” he replied evenly, though there was a flicker of irritation in his eyes.
Orpheus’ grin only widened, his amusement at Frederick’s cool response unmistakable. “Adequate, is it? High praise coming from you, Mr. Kreiburg. I’ll take it as a compliment.”
As Frederick shifted in his seat, clearly preparing to excuse himself, Orpheus’s voice cut through with a deliberate, almost casual remark.
“Leaving already, Mr. Kreiburg? I was just about to commend your… impeccable timing during the manor games. Or is that too much of a sore subject?”
Frederick froze, his sharp eyes locked onto Orpheus, his expression betraying a flicker of irritation. “Let's dispense with the pretenses, Mr. Orpheus.”
“Oh, of course not,” Orpheus replied smoothly, leaning back in his chair with the air of someone entirely at ease.
Frederick’s lips pressed into a thin line, the faintest crease forming between his brows. “Your point?” he said coolly.
Alice DeRoss, seated to Orpheus’ left, glanced between the two men with a curious glint in her eyes. “You two certainly have a way with words,” she said lightly, her voice carrying a note of amusement. “Is it always like this between you?”
Orpheus chuckled, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hand. “Oh, Ms. DeRoss, this is nothing. You should hear Mr. Kreiburg when he’s truly inspired.” He waved his free hand in a theatrical gesture. “A cutting wit sharper than any blade, though he uses it sparingly.”
Frederick’s eyes narrowed slightly, his tone cooling further. “Some of us value precision over verbosity, Mr. Orpheus. A lesson you might consider.”
“Precision?” Orpheus repeated, feigning deep thought. “Ah, yes, that explains your conversational style—like a scalpel. Clean, sharp, and entirely joyless.”
He was silent for a moment before he replied, his tone dry and deliberate. “And yours, Mr. Orpheus, is more akin to a hammer. Loud, blunt, and impossible to ignore.”
The subtle tension in the air was broken by the clear, measured voice of Mrs. Plinius, who had been quietly observing the exchange. “A hammer and a scalpel are both tools,” she said, her tone calm but firm. “Neither is superior; they simply serve different purposes.”
Orpheus turned his attention to Melly, a spark of admiration lighting his expression. “Ah, ever the voice of reason, Mrs. Plinius. Though, if I may, I prefer to think of myself as more of a finely-tuned instrument than a mere hammer.” He raised his glass in her direction. “But your point is well taken.”
Frederick’s lips twitched ever so slightly, though whether it was in irritation or amusement was unclear. “An instrument, Mr. Orpheus? I’d say more like a drum—constantly seeking attention with little regard for harmony.”
Alice laughed softly, her gaze flitting between them. “I must admit, watching the two of you is more entertaining than any concert I’ve attended recently. It’s like a symphony of barbs and retorts.”
Frederick shot her a cool look, though there was no true malice in it. “If this is a symphony, Ms. DeRoss, then it is one of Orpheus’ own making—a chaotic cacophony.”
Orpheus feigned offense, pressing a hand dramatically to his chest. “A cacophony, Mr. Kreiburg? You wound me. And here I thought we were composing something truly magnificent together.”
Frederick’s eyes flickered briefly with something unreadable before he looked down at his plate. “Magnificent or not, it’s exhausting.”
Melly, having returned to her meal, spoke again without looking up. “Exhaustion often accompanies anything worthwhile.”
Orpheus tilted his head toward her, his grin returning. “Wise as ever, Mrs. Plinius. Though I do wonder—does that extend to people as well?”
Her gaze lifted, piercing and unreadable. “Particularly people.”
“Mr. Orpheus,” she began, her tone light, “you seem quite skilled at drawing Mr. Kreiburg into conversation. Is it a habit of yours to provoke him?”
Orpheus leaned back in his chair, his smirk unrepentant. “Think of it as… encouragement.”
Orpheus broke the brief lull, swirling his wine with a lazy motion. “Tomorrow’s trial should prove interesting,” he said, his tone light, though his eyes flicked briefly toward Frederick. “Word is, this Hunter has a fondness for unpredictability. I trust we’re all prepared?”
Alice glanced up, ever attentive. “Prepared as one can be when facing the unknown,” she replied smoothly, her gaze shifting to Frederick, who remained focused on his meal. “What about you, Mr. Kreiburg? Any strategies you’re keeping to yourself?”
Frederick didn’t immediately reply, instead taking a measured sip of his wine. “Nothing worth sharing,” he said quietly, his voice devoid of unnecessary elaboration.
Orpheus’ lips curved into a knowing smirk. “Come now, Mr. Kreiburg. Don’t be modest.”
Frederick’s gaze briefly lifted to Orpheus, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. “Don't die,” he said simply before returning to his plate.
Alice raised an eyebrow, her amusement subtle but present. She turned her attention back to Orpheus. “What about you, Mr. Orpheus?”
Orpheus chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Someone has to keep the Hunter occupied while the rest of you quietly decode.”
Alice smiled faintly, her tone lightly teasing. “And here I thought it was just running in circles.”
“You wound me, Ms. DeRoss. There’s an art to it, I assure you.”
Melly, silent for much of the evening, finally spoke, her voice calm but commanding attention. “Strategy is what sees the task through. The Hunter is not one to be underestimated.”
Orpheus inclined his head toward her, a flicker of respect in his expression. “Wise as always, Mrs. Plinius. Strategy it is, then.” He turned his gaze to Frederick, whose focus remained firmly on his meal. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Kreiburg?”
Frederick’s response was little more than a faint hum of acknowledgment, his demeanor cool and distant.
Alice tilted her head, observing the quiet tension between the two men. “It seems Mr. Kreiburg is saving his energy for the trial. Perhaps we should all follow his example.”
Orpheus’ smirk deepened, but he said nothing more, letting the quiet settle over the table. The flickering light of the candelabra cast long shadows, the air thick with unspoken thoughts as the conversation shifted to lighter topics.
As the evening stretched on, the conversations at the table grew sparser. Melly was the first to rise, folding her napkin with quiet precision. “A stimulating evening,” she said, her tone polite but firm. “I shall retire. Goodnight, everyone.”
Alice followed soon after, smoothing her dress as she stood. “I suppose I should follow along. Rest well, all of you.” She cast a lingering glance at Orpheus and Frederick, a faint smile playing on her lips, before departing.
The soft echo of footsteps faded into silence, leaving Orpheus and Frederick alone in the grand dining room.
Orpheus leaned back in his chair, swirling the last of his wine in the glass. “And then there were two,” he remarked, his voice light but carrying a note of curiosity.
Frederick didn’t immediately respond. He took his time, folding his napkin neatly before placing it beside his plate. Finally, he looked up, his expression calm but unreadable. “Are you going to keep talking, Mr. Orpheus, or will you let the quiet settle in for once?”
Orpheus chuckled softly, setting his glass down with a faint clink. “It’s not in my nature to let moments pass unremarked upon, Mr. Kreiburg. Especially when they involve you.”
Frederick’s eyes narrowed slightly, though there was no real bite to his gaze. “Flattery doesn’t suit you.”
“Who said I was trying to flatter?” Orpheus leaned forward now, his tone dropping slightly. “You’re unusually quiet tonight, even for you. Something on your mind?”
Frederick’s fingers traced the edge of his wineglass absentmindedly. “It’s late,” he said simply. “And the manor game is tomorrow.”
Orpheus studied him for a moment, his sharp gaze lingering. “Practical as ever,” he said finally, his voice softening. “But if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re avoiding something.”
Frederick’s eyes flicked up to meet his, a faint tension in his jaw. “Not everything is worth discussing.”
“Perhaps not,” Orpheus conceded, leaning back again. “But some things are worth lingering over.”
The silence stretched between them, charged but not uncomfortable. Finally, Frederick rose from his seat, smoothing the front of his jacket. “Goodnight, Mr. Orpheus.”
Orpheus watched him as he turned toward the door, his smirk faint but persistent.
Orpheus didn’t move at first, letting Frederick take a few steps toward the door, before he finally stood and slowly approached, the sound of his footsteps deliberate in the otherwise quiet room. He caught up to Frederick just as he reached the doorframe, moving in close enough to make it impossible for him to continue without acknowledging him.
“Leaving so soon?” Orpheus’s voice was soft, a playful edge to it, though the way he spoke made it clear he wasn’t really asking. He wasn’t going to let Frederick slip away so easily.
Frederick stiffened for just a fraction of a second but didn’t turn around, his back still to Orpheus. “I’m tired,” he replied, voice steady but clipped, trying to keep the conversation at arm’s length.
Orpheus smirked, stepping forward until he was only a few inches behind him. His hand moved subtly, fingertips grazing the small of Frederick’s back, a light touch that was more calculated than casual. “You’ve been saying that all evening,” he remarked, his breath warm against the nape of Frederick’s neck. “Yet, here you are, still lingering.”
Frederick’s body tensed, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he exhaled slowly, as if trying to steady himself against Orpheus's proximity. "I’m not lingering." His voice was barely above a whisper.
Orpheus chuckled low in his throat, the sound rich and almost mocking. “No? Seems like you are.” His hand slid from Frederick’s back to his side, fingers brushing just above his waist before settling there, his grip firm but not aggressive. “You know, it’s quite rude to leave without saying goodbye properly.”
Frederick’s jaw clenched, but his usual sharp retorts seemed to falter under Orpheus’s teasing touch. “I said goodnight,” he muttered, his eyes still fixed ahead, refusing to face Orpheus directly.
“That wasn’t a proper goodbye,” Orpheus said, stepping even closer, his chest lightly pressing against Frederick’s back. He could feel the subtle tension in Frederick’s shoulders, the way he was fighting the urge to acknowledge just how much Orpheus’s presence was affecting him. Orpheus let his other hand come to rest lightly on Frederick’s wrist, holding it just enough to prevent him from pulling away. “A simple ‘goodnight’ doesn’t quite capture the... depth of our little exchange, does it?”
Frederick’s pulse quickened, though he tried to keep his tone level. “Let go.”
“I don’t think I will,” Orpheus murmured, his voice low, laced with a quiet challenge. His fingers tightened slightly around Frederick’s wrist, pulling him back just enough so that their bodies were pressed together, Frederick’s back against his chest. Orpheus let his breath ghost over Frederick’s ear. “It’s far too tempting to leave things like this, don’t you think?”
Frederick didn’t reply immediately, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He could feel the heat from Orpheus’s body against his, the closeness suffocating, and yet there was a strange part of him that didn’t want to break away. But, true to his nature, he couldn’t resist the urge to throw in one last deflection. “You’re exhausting.”
Orpheus’s smile deepened at the words, his grip on Frederick’s wrist loosening just enough to let his fingers slide down to his waist, where he settled them in a firm, possessive hold. “Am I? Or are you just enjoying the attention, Mr. Kreiburg?” His voice dropped lower, becoming a murmur that only Frederick could hear. “I’m sure you don’t mind it, not really.”
Frederick’s heart skipped a beat, but his expression remained as stubborn as ever. “I said goodnight.” His voice was thick, strained now, betraying him just a little.
Orpheus let out a soft chuckle, brushing his lips against Frederick’s ear, a teasing, lingering kiss of breath that was just on the edge of too intimate. “Goodnight, Frederick,” he whispered, his tone soft but still carrying that playful undercurrent. “Though, I think you’ll be thinking about this longer than you’ll admit.”
Frederick’s breath hitched slightly, his hand involuntarily pressing against Orpheus’s chest as if trying to push him away, but he didn’t. He didn’t move. He didn’t pull away.
For a long moment, the air between them was thick with unsaid things, but finally, Frederick let out a soft exhale, his shoulders slumping, his stubborn mask slipping just a fraction. “Goodnight, Orpheus,” he repeated, voice quieter, almost… resigned.
Orpheus held him just a moment longer before stepping back, letting the space between them grow again, though the tension was far from gone.
Frederick paused at the door, his hand on the handle, then glanced back, his gaze lingering on Orpheus with something almost like curiosity in his eyes. But he didn’t say another word. He just stepped out, leaving Orpheus standing there, the echo of his presence still vibrating in the space between them.
Orpheus smirked to himself, turning toward the empty room, already anticipating the next encounter.