Satyrykal

Ω

Alcester, Warwickshire – 25 th December 1815

As the moment settled and Yuuri realized what he had just agreed to, he found himself needing to sit down, massaging his temples. “I can hardly believe this, what has come over me?”

Viktor chuckled, seating himself beside his flustered new fiancé, keeping a respectful space between them.

“Likely my sparkling charm,” He answered smugly, undeterred by the unimpressed look the younger man sent him under his lashes.

“What will we do now? We cannot just announce it to the world, we have yet to ask for my father's blessing.” Yuuri paused then, dark eyes widening, “Vitya, do we have your mother’s blessing?”

The expression on the alpha’s face gave his answer and Yuuri leapt up, his footsteps muffled by the Persian carpet as he paced by the fireplace. “Do you mean to say no one knows you meant to propose? You made it sound like you had thought it through, that—that it was not a spur of the moment decision.”

Viktor rose at that, his hands raised placatingly. “I had thought it through, the idea came to me when we first met again in Brighton. I have not spoken to Mother because I wanted to be sure of your feelings first. I have no doubt they will respect my decision; they have always been fond of you.”

“My lord…” He trailed off, but the single word formed a complete sentence, both reproach and admonishment clear in his tone. The firelight threw his face into sharp relief.

The earl clucked his tongue, “None of that, you have just agreed to call me Vitya when we are alone.”

“Vitya,” This time his name was said with exasperation. “You are not nearly as concerned as you should be.”