high enough

Franziska was not used to being touched; when they were with a woman, they were in control. Hands wandered, looks lingered, but they were always in control of the moment. Here, though, with two of them... Warm lips were trailing down their throat. Their throat vibrated as they murmured quiet sounds of appreciation. Even when Fran recognized the King aimed to mark them. For all to see. Her mother, her father, her little brother.

His voice in their ear was like warm honey, and the smile that slipped across the Antivan's features was slow, serious until it turned playful. Perhaps you could handle a bit of fire. They crooned the words, their gaze seeking Manon.

Manon, whose hand in theirs made them feel like they might rule the world. Manon, the insufferable woman that Franziska Campana would betray their family for, if it came down to it. Did the Orlesian know what kind of enchantment she'd placed over the Antivan royal? A quiet chuckle left their lips, as they watched Manon kiss the King.

Jealousy... existed, because every part of Franziska insisted that was their Princess. And yet, there was something deeply satisfying about seeing Manon take what she wanted. And with that realization, the jealousy faded and their focus turned to the hands undoing the buttons of their vest; undressing them deftly, as if they'd done this hundreds of times before.

How many times had Manon been dancing at an event, only to get whisked away by their Antivan lover? How many times had Fran put the skills they'd learned from their mother and the Crows to use, to sneak the young woman from events.

Franziska went where Franziska wanted to go.

That, was undoubtedly, the truth.

Franziska had pressed their hands against Byron's chest, steadying themseloves as the Orlesian led him to one such spot that made them weak. The resulting moan was quiet, and they mumbled something in quickly spoken Antiva that loosely translated to 'trecherous traitor' though the words held no heat.

It took Fran a moment to find their voice, hands distracting as they undid their vest, their jacket, soft hands that they couldn't wait to have on their body. But when they did find their voice, they spoke up: No need for privacy, la mia sterlina. Let them see what an Antivan good time is. The King says we need rappresentazione.