high enough

dress && mask

Manon could not remember how many balls she had been to. How many celebrations she'd attended because it was expected of her. That was the majority of what it meant to be royalty. Show up to events because it was your duty. Day after day, year after year the same thing. Doing what was expected of her because that was all she knew. There was a time when Manon Durant did not care what was expected of her, where she ran through the forests and fields and basked in the sun as it baked the mud onto her skin. Those were the days she missed, she cherished and wished with all her might that she could have back. Perhaps now she could have them back, what with the changes in the past three years. They were looking more at her little brother than her now but she knew she was still being watched and she always would be. Despite the weight of the crown being lifted from her head, everyone still expected more out of her.

Which was why, ultimately, she'd been convinced to attend. It was her brother, Calixte, that had begged her to go. The pale-haired woman would never admit, never let him know that she had very important things that had garnered her attention, drew her gaze away from this frivolous event. Calixte did not have the same trust as he did before and for good reason. It was when he'd mentioned that the ball was for the betrothal of the King to the Antivan Princess. Manon had know for quite a time that Franziska was the Princess in question. Not that she would ever admit that Fran was the reason she'd ultimately decided to go. It had been quite some time without a letter from them and with the news that the royal family was on the run: Manon had begun to worry. None of her people could tell her where the daughter of Antiva was but she'd held out hope that nothing had taken them out. Until a few weeks ago when she received a letter from the one person that had pulled her to this ball in the first place.

She had long abandoned her brother, skirting around nobility and royalty alike as she scanned the masks.  It was a vague description but she had confidence that she could find the person she was looking for. Her bronze dress trailed the ground as she marched forward, her long pale hair braided and pulled up against her skull intricately, woven with jewels to match her dress. Her search was stopped short when a man approached her, asking for a dance. Manon cursed, trying her best to politely refuse. The man would take only yes as an answer. So, begrudingly, she gave him a dance. Part of her job was to endure and that she did. She moved through the motions, using the quick dance as a means to look around the ballroom. The last turn around, she spotted the suit in question. Crimson in color with a matching mask.

Parting from her dance partner, the Princess moved as elegantly as possible, sliding up beside the person in question. Manon made sure to bump into them, turning sharply, the jewels hanging from her mask flashing wildly with the movement as she apologized. "I am so very sorry!" Her hands went out to grasp their forearms as if to save them from falling, the gloves soft against the fabric of their jacket. "These masks are more a pain than they are a boon."

Franziska was certainly the life of the party; woman after woman were surrounding them, trying to catch their eye. It made them feel a bit bad—they were certain their betrothed was witnessing how they were being treated. Part of them didn't care. They had a political deal; he'd help them get their country back and then she'd leave, never to see him again.

At least, that's the plan and how it'd go in their head.

Fran was sure they could feel their mother's glare, as she swept yet another girl onto the dance floor, moving with expertise that only a practiced dancer would have. They had grown up a dancer, a thief, and many other things; much of which their mother would not approve—did not approve of.

They had sent a letter to Manon, in hopes that she may come to tonight's event. But until then, they would spend their time dancing with all of the women that asked. It was not until someone caught their eye, her elegant dress and mask in the corner of Fran's vision as they twirled their current dance partner.

That person found their way to them, and bumped into Franziska, who released their dance partner to turn their attention to the owner of a very familiar voice.

Their lips pulled into a wicked grin, as they leaned into the woman's touch. "Mmm, I think the masks give us all a sense of wonder." They purred the words, moving to slip one hand around Manon's waist, their previous partner forgotten. When Manon was around, she was the only one Fran paid attention too, after all.

"You, my dear, have just disappointed dozens of women who were hoping for my attention." They chuckled breathlessly, as one hand reached to toy with the strands of the princess' mask.

"I've missed you." They murmured, as they pulled Manon away from the dance floor, and the prying eyes that were locked on the royal. "Shall I acquire us drinks, and perhaps a nice, secluded balcony so that we might reacquaint?"

The thrill lit through her as she slid easily into position. Her armored chest pressed against the lapels of Fran's jacket, one hand sliding easily into their opposing hand, the other hand finding their shoulder as the dance continued. It was fluid, expertly performed as they traded partners and continued to move about the floor to the song that came from the musicians instruments. It was a position she did not realize she missed, wrapped in Fran's arms. Manon did not like to have weaknesses but she liked others to think she did. Faking her enemies out was something she'd always been good at and she liked to think that in the event that Fran was used against her, she would be able to take it in stride; just like they had in this dance. Just like everyone else in her life.

Pressed up against Fran as they twirled, she let out a chuckle, "I am a woman of Greed." She grinned, looking over at the women in question, her expression more of a sneer when her eyes left the face of her partner. There was nothing that tied the two of them together. They weren't married, they weren't partners in any sense that would bind one to the other forever. Yet the feeling rose despite her best efforts. Like a cancer that threatened to steal her breath, even as the thrill of Fran's words washed over her. Jealousy did not look good on anyone. So, she pushed it down because Fran was not hers and she was not Fran's. Maybe it was because they had had enough time with them. Manon had not seen Fran in some time and she wanted every waking minute with them right now. Even if she ultimately abandoned her brother for the night.

Despite the jewels hiding her nose and lips, she grinned, her eyes crinkling up behind the mask. This would of been the perfect night to find allies, someone to take her side in her plight against her brother and Morrigan. But tonight would be only for reconnecting with Fran and she was fine with that. "And leave all these beautiful women wanting?" Manon questioned, a light of mirth in her eyes, foregoing her usual demeanor in light of seeing her friend and lover again. Playing hard to get was her usual but tonight would be different. Grabbing the wrist of her lover, she lifted her skirts with the other hand, navigating through the crowd until she found a door, exiting through into a hallway. Dropping Fran's arm and her skirts, she closed the doors and then turned back, ignoring the guards as she turned and opened the next door across the hall, leading to a balcony. "You must catch me up on everything, my love, I thought you dead!" Her voice had an edge of worry, mixed with annoyance at being left in the dark for so long. Not that it really mattered, Fran had no obligation to tell her anything. Still, she slid her hand into Fran's, regardless of her feelings.

Franziska grinned, as she fluidly moved from one partner to the next with practiced skill. With Manon, everything felt... right, easier. Though that still gave her no inclination to settle down. In her family that seemed the norm, after all, to take eons to settle. After all, it had taken her father until his thirties to find her mother again.

"Ah, yes. You are indeed a woman of greed. Quite fetching," she nipped the princess' ear, whispering softly, "Be careful, la mia sterlina. Jealousy makes your skin look green." Fran nuzzled the Orlesian Princess, lips leaving a gentle trail of soft kisses against exposed flesh, before she once again met the other woman's eyes.

"Ah, they know where I'll be when I've free time, hm?" She teased. She followed obedioently, Fran grabbed a bottle of wine from a server as they passed. She clutched the wine to her chest, frowning as they entered a hallway and Manon let her go.

"I'm sorry, la mia sterlina," she murmured, reaching to slip an arm around the other woman's waist, hugging her against herself as they entered the balcony. "Let me catch you up on me, first. Make sure you remember me." She was suckling a hickey to the side of the princess' neck, when they entered the balcony. One hand grasping Manon's, the other held wine and that arm was around her waist, mussing her skirts.

And as the door to the balcony closed, she frowned, staring at the man in front of them. Clearing her throat, hoping stupidly that Byron had not heard them, she straightened and released Manon entirely.

"Ah... uhm," a blush settled on the woman's cheeks. She wasn't sure what to say, or what to do. She'd never been bothered being caught with girls before; but Manon...

She was Manon. Different.

Outfit and Mask

Byron wasn't going to be so proud as to not admit that, even though parties and festivals were a large part of his life as a son of an Arl and now King, he still at times got overwhelmed. Especially so when it was such a large event he could hardly take a breath and be allowed a moment to himself. Such really, was the fate of being king, he was expected to be present, visible, especially on a night he had called for celebrating his betrothal. The thing that had, until recently, been the furthest from his mind.

Until said betrothed had landed in his lap, figuratively speaking, via window of their own free will.

If he wasn't loathe to drink more than he should, Byron would've been thoroughly drunk for the last week over the scrambling done to handle such an event. The scandal let alone the rest of the political issues that had transpired...well a lesser man would've forced some sort of compensation from Fran. That wasn't the sort of man Byron thought himself, his father had raised his sons with a sense of honor, no matter a person's place of origin, and well, frankly he'd rather not give the Crows more reason to breathe down his neck by slighting their princess, even if she and her family were on the run.

Again the urge to drink had been increasingly strong in the lead up to the party and he had so far managed to keep himself sober until the event when the niceties and fakeness of the vast majority present had started to bother him in a fashion that was decidedly not deserved and even with the bull mask on he had found himself increasingly snappish towards people. Enough so that he decided to politely remove himself from the situation, something that during any other event before Franziska had shown up on his doorstep, would be spent in the company of the nearest person who had caught his eye. But the responsible part of him decided that was a bad idea, even if he'd had some interest from various persons, and so he thought to spend the time with a bottle and fresh air.

Or rather a bottle and a half, with a third on a small table someone had thought to place on the balcony. The best company he could truly ask for, with his mask off and a chance to look out at the festivities and enjoy seeing the people, his people, enjoying themselves. The quiet and the alcohol was doing him good, until he heard voices nearing and he turned to the door, his face in some mixture of annoyance and amusement at someone finding him in a spot he thought would be away from everyone.

The fact that he swore he knew the voices didn't help the amusement and when the two women entered he laughed. Not the loud roaring laugh he had at court, but the deep amused sort of laugh at something absurd happening and seeing his supposed betrothed marking who he assumed to be a favored lover, or perhaps recent lover, was enough to get that out of him. Of all the things...

"I trust then," Byron started as he turned around proper, arms splayed over the railing as he leaned back on it, "that you're both having a good time? Perhaps looking for a better one."

Her skin was flushed, hands pulling Fran closer, as if they could mold to each other if she pulled them closer. Fran had not exactly been Manon's only lover throughout her life but she was definitely the one she remembered, the one she craved, the one that left her stupid, incoherent. A hum of appreciated left her when she felt those familiar lips press against her neck and for once she regretted her fashion choice. The mask made kissing her a lot harder than it should be.

"They'll have to get through me first." She mused, having no intentions of leaving Fran quickly or for long. Greedy was an accurate descriptor for the silver-haired princess. Manon wanted and she wanted much. But every time she turned around, something was taken from her and she'd be damned if they were going to take Franziska from her. Even as they parted momentarily in the hall, Fran found her again and Manon met her halfway. Her hands found Fran, pulling her closer, allowing easier access to her neck as she fumbled forward onto the balcony. "Fran, you're going to leave a mark!" She all but giggled, her hand coming up to rest against Fran's cheek, her other hand pushing the mask up and mostly out of the way.

In the same moment, she leaned forward, hungrily kissing Fran on the lips, the hand on her cheek sliding behind her head to deepen the kiss. However, she was only given a taste when Fran yanked out of her grasp and left her reeling. Manon stood there, as if ice water had been thrown on her and some part of her felt ashamed, another part angry. Blue eyes moved to whom had caught Fran's attention and her blood ran cold. The King of Ferelden. The alarm bells went off and her gaze shifted to Fran, the realization hitting her. This was Fran's husband to be. How could she be so foolish? Fran was on the run and this could of ruined her safe haven.

Manon was the first to move, straightening her dress and sliding her mask down properly. "Your Grace.." She paused, looking over at Fran before a wicked smile found its way onto her lips, "How right you are." The elegant woman moved forward, her movements fluid as she approached him. It had been years since she had seen Byron Wulff and he aged like a fine wine. "You can watch, if you like." Her eyes locked with his, knowing she was playing with fire and the game was dangerous, something she was willing to play with.

Franziska was staring, as if the King was not real. He was her safe haven, the only thing keeping her in a plush bed, a palace instead of whatever home her parents could con their way into, constantly moving. He was the only way she could stay in one place, luxurious lifestyle abound. Her blood ran cold, her cheeks burning, dark eyes wide and fixed on the man. Had she just ruined any chance she had of staying in Ferelden? Had she destroyed any hope of the betrothal keeping her safe? She was like a deer, stuck in sudden firelight. The wine dangled in one hand, Antivan wine that her mother had brought, good quality. A reminder of home, that she so desperately missed.

Her breathing was shallow, as she watched Manon move to interact. Everything in her screamed that the silver-haired princess needed to leave; this was ruining the game she was playing... and yet. The King was not mad. Was he? She did not know him well enough to tell for certain. After a moment, she'd reached to remove her own mask, moving after Manon. "The party below is not as entertaining as the Princess of Orlais, Sire. Well... it's a bit dull, compared to Antivan parties, at least." Her father and mother had commented the same to her. She hadn't had the heart to witness the looks on their faces when they learned she'd not been spending any time in the man's presence, had sequestered herself in a wing of the palace and refused his company. Her mother would be truly appalled. So she had let them think that the King had insisted on the party below, and given her no say.

Manon... spoke as if she knew the man, and Fran's head tilted slightly. "Your Grace, do you know the Princess?" There was no jealousy in her voice, as she moved towards the man, holding the bottle of wine up. "My mother thought you'd appreciate Antivan's finest. A little taste of home." She could not fathom how the two might know one another otherwise, some part of her was morbidly curious.

Their reactions were hilarious, truly as he saw Fran's wide eyed stare not unlike the deer he used to hunt back and Manon's grace, two very different reactions that made him continue his laugh a few moments more. As he allowed his eyes to drift over both women he pushed himself off the railing, smoothing down his pants as if he'd dare allow them to be wrinkled in front of them.

He wasn't going to guess what their worries were exactly, it was bad enough to catch them as they had been let alone in front of one of their husband's to be, so he'd allow his general amusement to carry him through his own thoughts. Just what were they playing at? Besides of course, the obvious, because he had two eyes in his head and could see all of that and yet there was something else, just by the way they acted around one another.

Byron stayed grinning to hide any sort of issue, any sort of annoyance at them as he approached Manon who had approached him in turn, moving to take one of her hands in his and place a kiss on her palm. Fran hadn't gotten that when she arrived, but then again she'd taken to avoiding him for days and he'd hardly been able to get two words said to her before the present. "As always, Princess, a pleasure and an honor," his grin continued as he lifted their joined hands up for another kiss to Manon's knuckles before turning his eyes to Fran, almost as if a challenge.

"It's been a few years, but you've grown into a beautiful young woman," he meant every word of it as well as he moved as if to place himself between the two, only stopping to take the offered bottle from Fran as he gave the other Princess a wink. It was a game, perhaps a bit too daring of him but the alcohol was flowing and he was allowed some fun at Fran's expense.

"And I do apologize for the bore, as while Antiva sends me her finest as a homecoming gift for you, you've yet to show me some of that Antivan fire that's so famed. Perhaps the party below would be more entertaining for us all if we'd broken bread in the last week," which was the only comment he thought to make about her lack of appearance at meals, or anywhere truly. That still stung, for he hadn't thought himself such a beast as to make her avoid him and yet it didn't stop him from, hesitantly in his mind but boldly in action, move to hook an arm around Fran as if to gather her to him like one would their wife to be. "So I am always willing for a show, though for who, maybe that should be discussed."

Fraternizing with an Antivan royal had been something she'd always kept close to her chest. No one, not even her brother knew about her relationship with Fran and she had intended to be sure it stayed that way. She remembered the first time she'd met them all those years ago when they'd demanded she kiss them. Of course, it was years later that she met them again and that time it was more than a kiss. Years of praise, sweet nothings as they kissed her skin should of had her used to compliments, of positive reinforcement from the other royal. Yet, hearing Fran praise her as they approached set her skin on fire. Entertaining. It was better than not being entertaining, right?

Manon could feel Fran approaching from behind as Byron moved towards them, specifically herself. Her heart hammered in her chest but her face was a mask of confidence as he grasped her smaller hand in his. Expertly, she dipped into a curtsy, lowering her head, only to meet his gaze when he pressed his lips into her palm. As charming as ever, she grinned as she stood to her full height and still he towered over her; just like he had back in her teens when she'd bartered with him to let her leave the party early. How curious that they met in similar circumstances. "The last time we saw each other you asked for a dance in turn for keeping quiet, if I remember correctly." Daringly she grasped his hand as he once again pressed his lips to her knuckles this time.

Manon may not be betrothed or married even at her age but it was not because she wasn't good at winning one over. No, that was something out of her control and she was going to grasp about the throat before she was buried by the Witch of the Wilds. "Have you always been so charming, Byron?" It felt more natural to use his name in this instance as he turned to stand between them, her hand still grasped in his much larger one, smiling as he winked. Was this a game he was playing? Royals always played games but she thought better of him for it, still she was intrigued.

Manon's gaze slid to Fran at his words, words that put it all into perspective of what Fran had endured. And what Byron had dealt with. Most would of tossed Fran out for such slights. Did she realized how good she had it? "It is quite a show, that fire." She smirked, her eyes never leaving Fran, even as Byron moved to wrap his arm around her. For a moment, Manon just stood and watched them, her arm extended out so her hand could grasp Byron's still. Like a tether that could be solidified or snapped at a singular decision. A decision that would have consequences no matter which way she went. Manon would never know what pushed her to the decision but she stepped forward, pressing herself into Fran, almost possessively. It was a position she knew well, her leg found its home between hers, despite her own skirts. Manon's free hand caressed Fran's cheek once again, grinning at the Antivan, a daring smile that not many could see as daring. Something passed from her eyes to Fran, hoping she got the message.

Whilst wrapped against Fran, she turned, using the hand that Byron still had grasped and slipped it from his hand to grab his vest to bring him down to her level. It wasn't much but it was enough for her to press her lips to his even if briefly. "I think being part of the play is far more interesting than being a spectator." She was inches from Byron's face still, even if she had to stand on her toes to do so, her eyes dancing between his, gauging his reaction before she settled back on her heels, turning back to Fran. She wasn't going to leave them out. With similar heights, it was easier to engulf the other in a deep kiss. With both hands, she grabbed their cheeks and pressed her lips into Fran's hungrily.

Franziska narrowed her eyes as she watched the King, the way he spoke to Manon, touched her. They seemed much too familiar with one another for her liking. Though perhaps that would keep whatever ire she was earning from Byron away. She was silent, as she watched the two of them, and adjusted her weight as the wine was removed from her possession. "I hardly think you wish my Antivan fire, Sire." Her voice felt hollow in her throat, she was mostly sure that it sounded okay, though.

Never display fear, never display your tells. Even now, she was carefully guarding herself against both of them, she had too. This man was King, he held the key to her freedom from the Crows, and... potentially, an alliance with this man would help her family. But how would this help Manon? She stood there, hiding her disgust at being touched in such a friendly manner by someone who she was certain planned to toy with her. It was easy to mask any emotions that his arm around her might have caused, she was used to it.

But really, the disgust was more at herself. She couldn't deny the way her stomach dropped when he draped his arm around her, couldn't deny the tingle of excitement that trailed up her spine. But her face was blank as the moment she'd realized he was watching them; could see them.

Manon's remark about that Antivan fire that one could expect to experience at the hands of Fran made her stomach coil happily; the praise, her tone of voice. She had to remind herself not to react, not to visibly shiver under the weight of praise from the Princess.

And then, all was right in the world. Manon had found her way against Fran once again, and she adjusted her stance appropriately. It seemed that Manon's insights to the King of Ferelden indicated he'd enjoy a good time... And that was something that she could get behind; even if she couldn't get passed how attractive the man was. There'd only been a handful of people in the world that had made Fran feel that way; and she'd only kept in touch with one of them over the years.

But what Manon wanted, she'd get.

"She has quite the appetite, Sire," Franziska managed, before Manon was returning her focus to them, shattering their facade with a deep kiss. Both of Fran's hands reached to tangle into the Orlesian Princess' hair, as they hungrily returned the kiss, forgetting the fears regarding the King—regarding anyone knowing about Manon and herself.

At the moment, there was nothing else in the world, but the woman in front of her.

Byron wasn't the sort to be jealous, and he could hardly be so when it came to him stepping into two lovers as it was, but part of him, he would admit, was. The ease the two shared as they spoke and touched one another gave him a stabbing, nagging feeling that he pushed aside because it was hardly fair to them if he was jealous and it would ruin the mood of the moment. Which, truthfully, as Manon didn't seem to mind his hand or him and Fran hadn't turned about to stab him for daring to touch them, meant a great deal to keep as it was.

But as he pushed passed that jealousy, passed that nagging feeling in his gut, he turned his smile still to Manon and at her addressing him by name, at Fran mentioning how he'd not like her fire and still that smile stayed because it was easier to smile and put on the charm now than it would be later. "I like to think I always have been, though the opinions of others is always appreciated when it comes to my charm." Not one to brag or boast about his accomplishments, Byron kept to himself about such things and reveled in it when people noticed. Not always the best of things when it came to being a nobleman but it'd earned him praise back home when he'd fought alongside his father's soldiers and he hadn't bragged the entire time like some young Mabari pup proud of his first kill.

How Manon had used his name gave him a warm feeling he hadn't felt in ages, coupled with being pulled down for a kiss, like he wouldn't take such an invitation, was enough to make him ignore that doubt, that mistrust he had. That they were using him, two beautiful people who managed to charm a drunk man into things that they could later hold over him down the line, putting him once again in someone else's pocket and he wasn't sure he could handle that again. Handle his trust being broken, for he'd allowed Fran into his home even after her untimely arrival, allowed the Orlesians into his kingdom knowing that they still were not on the best of terms (his father was rolling in his grave, he had little doubt). But that warm feeling and the alcohol allowed him to ignore it, at least for the moment, to just enjoy however things went. For if he couldn't enjoy himself now, then what kind of man was he?

The alcohol also had allowed perhaps, the most vulnerable he could be in front of Manon for those few moments she watched his face after the kiss, his smile a little brighter, before he put that more controlled look back as he pulled back some, standing up a little taller to turn his attention back to Fran. Back, truthfully, properly, on his betrothed even as Manon pulled them into a kiss and he hummed in thought but a moment before taking his now free hand to rest on the small of Manon's back, his arm loosening some about Fran's shoulders as he leaned down to kiss along Fran's neck where he was able between the two other royals kissing. Carefully doing so at first as to not leave a mark, but as he worked his way up their neck he got more eager than intended and if he left marks behind well he figured it only fair. Fran was his betrothed, he was allowed such things surely.

Before he could add more to their neck, he managed to pull back and whisper in their ear, "Is it her that has the appetite, my dear, or perhaps you? I think I could handle being burned to see some of that."

Manon blamed her wild thoughts on the night. She was supposed to be finding allies, people would back her when she finally tried for the crown that had been taken from her. The silver-haired woman had never been swayed by a pretty face in the past yet all thoughts of subterfuge were washed away when she'd caught a glimpse of the woman at her side. The years they had seen each other had led to being careful beyond measure. What would the others think if they found the two royals tangled together in one or the other's sheets? At the beginning, Manon had not cared but she'd been cautious. After all, then she was the Crown Princess and she could do as she pleased. Now? The Princess was on shaky ground, her feet pressed firmly against the shifting earth of her future.

Being whisked away by the same Antivan that had stolen her away so many times before, she had felt a rush of excitement. Something she had not felt in a long while. Manon was chasing the high of being with Fran, all bright smiles and pumping blood that took away her rationality. She was sure in this moment if Fran had asked her to jump from the balcony with them, she would, if only for the thrill of it. The hungry way she'd tried to swallow the darker skinned woman did not go away with the presence of another. Never mind it was the damn King, she was sure if it had been anyone else, she'd of brought them into their night of debauchery. It had been some time since she'd seen Byron, but it was the first time she'd seen him in such a light. Was it the drug of the lover she'd wrapped herself around? Or was it something else? Manon had taken other lovers when Fran was no where in sight but when Fran was around, it was only Fran. This was new waters.

Kissing the King of Fereldan sent a jolt through her, her face warmed and her heart hammered. Manon liked to play games, she liked to test the waters, see how far she could take things before the snake bit back. Had she poked the bear too much this time?  She had half expected him to be angry, to push her away but she'd already turned her attention to Fran and they were glad for it. How many times had she found Fran's hands in her soft hair? How many times had she been left breathless just from a touch alone? Too many to count. Manon could only pull away to smile brightly, a laugh echoing from her as she spoke, "Insatiable." A reply to Fran's comment about her appetite. From her vantage point, she reveled in the way Byron made his mark upon Fran's throat and Manon hummed in appreciation.

One hand reached forward, gently gripping the King's chin and pulling, putting his lips against a specific spot. "This spot here. It makes her weak in the knees." A wicked grin pressed across Manon's full lips before she moved forward and her own lips found the King's neck, her hand still on his chin but it migrated down his neck and finally to his arm, where she gripped him. "There are prying eyes, sire, perhaps somewhere a little more.. private?" It was a last scrap of rationale that came to mind as she made her way up to press her lips against his jawline, if they could not make it to a secluded spot, then so be it. Even now, as the words left her, gloved hands had reached for the buttons on Fran's jacket and vest, undoing them with deft hands without even looking towards them.

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.