Chapter Text
The party was already awkward enough. If it had been up to Samuel, he wouldn’t have come at all—but alas, duty called, and he had to attend alongside his grandfather.
Being surrounded by nobles didn’t help. He felt completely out of place, like every pair of eyes was sizing him up, judging him in silence.
At least he could still catch glimpses of John. They hadn’t spoken, and Samuel didn’t want to interrupt whatever covert task John might be tangled in. Still, every time Samuel spotted him, John looked a little more drunk than the last. But who was Samuel to judge? He was feeling the weight of the evening just as heavily.
“You need to relax, Samuel. No one here’s out to get you,” Jehuda murmured beside him.
“You can never be too careful,” Samuel replied without looking back. Maybe he was being tense, but who wouldn’t be, in his position?
Jehuda leaned back in his seat with a soft hum. “If you want, you could go talk to Sir Liechtenstein. I can manage on my own.”
Samuel frowned, staring into his drink. “No... I’d rather not disturb him. Besides, he looks busy.” Glancing back, he saw John in a deep conversation with Godwin. Both of them looked focused, conspiratorial, even.
The room fell abruptly silent as Jobst of Moravia entered. The older man, draped in ornate finery and a crown, stood out like a gilded statue. Something about him didn’t sit right with Samuel. Maybe it was his general mistrust of—well, most nobles. A man with that much power who could barely keep a room from fracturing into chaos? It was laughable.
Samuel couldn’t help but notice the way Jobst kept looking at John. Of course, Sam knew John worked as his spy—but there was something strange about the way their eyes met. John offered a smirk, but it quickly faltered, his gaze dropping to the floor. It looked like discomfort—maybe even shame.
Samuel had the sudden urge to go over and ask John what was going on—or more honestly, why Jobst was looking at him like that. What was between them?
Though he wouldn’t admit it, jealousy twisted in his chest. He’d never had someone in his life—outside his family—who felt this close. Someone he could simply be himself around. Samuel had never really had romantic partners. The idea always came with too much fear—fear of something happening to them, or worse, ending up like his father: a man tied to someone because of a mistake. It felt safer to keep his distance, to avoid the risk entirely. And the other side of his desires? That was a door he hadn’t dared to open. Whatever was hidden behind it, he wasn’t ready to face.
But with John, it was becoming harder and harder to ignore.
He’d grown used to the other man’s presence—sharing drinks every night, trading stories, talking about everything and nothing. Having someone who seemed genuinely interested in him… it was addictive. Samuel had never made a move, never dared, but he noticed things. The way John would brush his hand when passing a drink. The way he’d lean in, too close, when speaking. The looks that made something twist low in Samuel’s stomach.
He hated how often his mind wandered. What if he had leaned into it? Played along instead of freezing up? But whenever the feelings grew too warm, too tempting, Samuel would shut down. Excuse himself. Leave John behind and curse his cowardice. Why couldn’t he just ignore it—or do something about it?
But now it felt like it was too late. What was the point in dwelling on it? John would leave with Jobst soon, and that would be the end of whatever had almost been.
Still, Samuel found himself inventing reasons to keep John around. It’s not safe yet. You should lie low longer. Even as he thought them, he knew how childish they were. But seeing John with Jobst made his skin crawl. The thought of them being close—it made something burn inside him.
As the hall quieted and everyone finally settled in, Samuel caught sight of Jobst speaking to John, their faces far too close. Jobst leaned in, whispering something in John's ear.
Samuel didn’t realize how tightly he was gripping his cup until it nearly slipped from his hand. He couldn’t sit still anymore. He stood and made his way toward a nearby table, conveniently close to the two men. As he poured himself another cup of wine—pretending that was his only intention—John turned and offered him a soft smile. But Jobst turned too, fixing Samuel with a smug grin, like he was in on a joke Samuel didn’t know.
John, however, looked uneasy. He could feel the tension between the two men like a blade being drawn.
“Jobst, this is Samuel,” John said, trying to keep his voice level. “If it weren’t for him, I’d be dead in some alley by now.”
Samuel could feel Jobst’s eyes trailing over him, measuring, analyzing. “I see,” the older man said smoothly. “Then I suppose I owe you my thanks for saving my dear John.” He extended a hand toward Samuel.
His dear John? The phrase sent a jolt of anger through him. Samuel’s face flushed as he exhaled sharply through his nose.
“…Pleasure,” he muttered, reluctantly taking the hand and forcing himself not to squeeze too hard—or throw his wine in Jobst’s face.
He couldn’t stand being near the man. Without another word, he turned and walked away, unwilling to engage further.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw John start to move, as if he wanted to follow, to say something, but Jobst placed a firm hand on his shoulder, stopping him in place.
“I’m sure you’ll be glad to sleep in your bed again,” Jobst murmured, “rather than some tavern basement.”
John lowered his head, silent. He looked like a scolded child, unable to argue back.
Before he could offer any response, Jobst gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze and then walked away, vanishing into the crowd.
Once the lord was gone, John let out a deep, exhausted sigh, like he’d been holding his breath the entire time. He grabbed a cup of the cheap wine and downed it in one go before moving to stand by the window, alone and distant. He didn’t speak to anyone; there wasn’t any point to it, Godwing was doing all the work either way. He wanted to find Samuel, to explain things, but he didn’t trust himself to speak; at least not yet. Maybe after another drink, the words would come easier.
Meanwhile, Samuel was doing his best to keep his composure, especially under his grandfather’s watchful gaze. He tried to steady his breath, tried not to let anything show. Maybe his grandfather had a point about not letting his mother be with a goy. Because this? This was beyond frustrating.
He shouldn’t care this much. Especially not over some nobleman.
But no matter how much he tried to push it aside, the thoughts kept coming. He caught himself biting his lip whenever his mind drifted, imagining Jobst standing close to John, whispering to him, holding him. Having him all to himself.
The thought made Samuel feel sick.
He barely spoke for the rest of the evening, mirroring John’s silence. He saw him exchange a few words with Godwin, but otherwise John kept to himself. And even though Samuel wanted nothing more than to speak to him, he couldn’t bring himself to cross the room. Not yet.
The mood in the hall lightened once Jobst of Moravia left. Samuel couldn’t deny that he felt a weight lifted from his chest. That, and the wine glass after glass, was dulling his nerves. Maybe a few too many glasses. But what better way to drown feelings he didn’t know how to handle than with alcohol?
And everyone else seemed just as drunk, if not more so.
He drained the last of his drink, setting the cup aside, and let his gaze wander the room until it landed on John. He looked a mess, just as drunk, swaying slightly on his feet, waving and shouting “friend!” at someone across the room. Maybe he meant Samuel. Maybe not. It didn’t matter. He needed to talk to him.
Samuel took a step forward, only for a man to suddenly appear in front of him.
“Bonjour, ravi de vous rencontrer!” the man practically shouted into Samuel’s face.
Sam flinched slightly, blinking at the intrusion, already irritated.
“You’re in my way. Move.” He tried to sidestep, but the man quickly stepped in front of him again.
“My name is Vauquelin Brabant,” the stranger announced proudly, with a sweeping gesture. “You might have heard of me.”
Samuel stared, completely baffled by this Frenchman’s sudden appearance. He didn’t answer. Brabant didn’t seem to notice or care. He just kept talking, barely pausing for breath. He did ask Samuel who he was at one point, but before Sam could say a word, the man was already off on another self-congratulatory tangent.
It was unbearable.
Samuel kept trying to glance past him, scanning for John. He was still there, but barely, already slipping through the crowd again. And Samuel? He was stuck here, cornered by this insufferable chatterbox.
Eventually, Samuel gave up trying to be polite. He started mocking Brabant outright, mimicking his exaggerated gestures and pompous tone.
The man didn’t even seem to notice.
Samuel sighed loudly, cursing under his breath. His buzz was turning into a headache, and if he didn’t escape this conversation soon, he wasn’t sure he’d even be able to stand straight, let alone walk over to John.
After several excruciating minutes of Vauquelin’s endless self-aggrandizing, the Frenchman finally found a new victim to impress, and Samuel slipped away with barely concealed relief.
He made his way through the crowd, walking straight toward John with purpose—and just a hint of desperation. When he reached him, he placed a hand on the other man’s shoulder. John flinched slightly at the touch but turned around with a crooked, drunken smile that was almost boyishly charming.
“There you are!” he exclaimed, slinging an arm around Samuel’s shoulders. His words slurred together like wine spilling from an unsteady cup. “I’ve been trying to talk to you all evening, but you looked so angry.”
Samuel chuckled despite himself. “You’re not the first to notice. But you know how I get at these sorts of events.”
John squinted at him, swaying slightly before putting both hands on Samuel’s shoulders and fixing him with an unusually serious look, at least, serious for a drunk man. “But… you looked mad at me,” he said, voice softening. “Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry I didn’t speak to you more. I swear, Sam, I wanted to. I just got caught up in all the negotiations.”
Something in Samuel’s chest tightened. He hadn’t expected that—hadn’t meant to make John feel guilty.
“No. Of course not,” he said, smiling faintly. “When am I ever mad at you, friend? Apart from when you drink half our wine supply.”
John let out a hoarse laugh. “At least that wine was worth drinking! Not like the bathwater they’re serving here.” He made a theatrical gesture of disdain, and for a moment, everything felt easy again.
But then he looked at Samuel more closely, the laughter fading from his eyes. “Still… something’s wrong. You’re not hiding it well, you know.”
“I—” Samuel hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. “It’s nothing. Just… I don’t fit in with these people. They’re all so damn pretentious.”
“That, my dear friend, is the most honest thing said in this entire hall tonight,” John said with a chuckle. “But we all keep up the facade. Makes them feel like they matter.”
Samuel swallowed, suddenly nervous again. He wasn’t sure how to ask what was really on his mind.
“Did…” He inhaled sharply. “Did everything go all right with the lord?”
“Jobst?” John tilted his head, blinking through his drunken haze. “Yes. He’s not the best at keeping public order, but we sorted what needed sorting.” His expression shifted, softening. “Is that what’s bothering you? Jobst?”
“I’m not upset about him,” Samuel said quickly, too quickly. “I just didn’t—” He threw up his hands, searching for a lie that didn’t sound too transparent. “I just didn’t realize you were…”
“Yes?”
“Well… It’s nothing.” He waved the thought away. “Is there any wine left, do you think?”
John raised an eyebrow. “So you are upset about him.”
Samuel looked away, jaw tightening.
“Look,” John continued, “I know he can come off as—well—Jobst. But we haven’t got much choice, do we?” He spoke more quietly now, more carefully. He’d shared his complicated feelings about the lord with Samuel before, in hushed words over empty mugs.
“It’s not that,” Samuel said. “I mean—” He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes downcast. “I just didn’t think you were… that close to him.”
John went still. For once, he looked truly speechless. Not surprised—but unsure of how to respond. His gaze dropped to the floor, then flitted toward the windows, the doorway, anywhere but Samuel.
He opened his mouth—
And then the shouting began.
Screams rang out from outside the hall, followed by the unmistakable clash of steel.
The conversation came to a crashing halt.
Perhaps… it would have to wait.