#beamie

“...And I felt afraid, for my heart said, ‘Get ready to fall’...”

For all the times they’d stressed the importance of focus to Beatrice during their lessons together, Amaryllis was a horrible example tonight. This is hardly their first masquerade. They are a professional, a highly esteemed act, graced with the opportunity and patronage to stand on such a stage. And yet, they certainly aren’t acting like one. No one else could tell, thank the gods, but they know that their mind is wandering, thinking about how it’s a waste of time to sing these songs when Beatrice might not even be in the crowd to hear them.

It was only a few hours into the night, but thus far Amaryllis had been too busy with official duties to track Beatrice down. Their eyes wandered then too, catching each time they’d spotted that familiar shade of green. By the time they were to get on stage they were restless and fed up with their courtly duties.

“...When I lost my heart, at the ball.”

The last notes of the song are struck, and the orchestra begins to transition into an instrumental piece as applause for them— and the ballroom full of dancing guests— cuts through the room. Amaryllis smiles and bows, keeping the mask on for just a few more moments.

When Amaryllis finally descends from the stage and merges back into the party, they need to stop for a moment to catch their breath. Which turns out to be a mistake that gives Nadia— who must have been waiting for their exit— the chance to step in. With her is a baron from somewhere Amaryllis doesn’t catch. It matters little, because they’re quick to pick up on Nadia’s terse smile and the plea for help in her eyes.

His request for a dance is granted, and it isn’t long after they’ve stepped into the dance floor proper that Amaryllis sees just why she wanted rid of him. Chatty, and a little self obsessed was the nicest description they could come up with. As he prattles on and Amaryllis tries to keep up with his off-rhythm box step and manages to drown out his voice with that of the songstress who’d taken to the stage after them. Their eyes begin to wander once again, looking past the baron’s shoulder into the crowd as they shuffle across the floor.

It’s a verse or two and a swap in positions— which is a clear relief to the baron— before Amaryllis finally sees a flash of carefully styled curls in that perfect shade of honey-kissed brown and—

Oh.

When Beatrice turns their way, the sight of her alone leaves Amaryllis breathless. She’s swathed in layers of cream tulle and golden embroidery, standing out against the reds and violets of the ballroom decor. Her face is obscured by a rabbit-eared mask, and though it complements her, they’d rather not miss out on that pretty pink flush likely to be on her cheeks. Now they are the dancer with the faulty footwork; Beatrice was so captivating, she’d managed to make Amaryllis stumble.

Before the baron can inquire if Amaryllis is alright, they quickly and efficiently excuse themself from the dance floor. It’s against their better judgment, and they hope he doesn’t manage to run into Nadia again. But they’ve spent the entire night so preoccupied with Beatrice, they’d be a real fool to lose track of her now.

As Amaryllis slips through the crowd to get to Beatrice, her eyes are on them, and can feel the curious glances from guests who are eager to find out who the infamous songstress is looking at with such reverence. Finally before her, they can’t stop the smile that finds itself on their painted lips.

“I’ve been looking for you all night.”

Her face lights up. “I’ve been looking for you too.”

“I’ve missed you,” they reveal, and Beatrice’s eyes go wide behind her golden mask. What they just admitted to dawns on Amaryllis, and they feel a very uncommon pang of embarrassment. Quickly, they divert the conversation. “May I have this dance?” They hold out a hand, and for a moment they worry she might not take it.

But with a shy smile and a nod, her hand slides into theirs.

Amaryllis leads Beatrice back through the crowd, back onto the dance floor. Her free hand comes to rest on their shoulder, and their hand slides around to her back, notably lower than it needs to be. Together they effortlessly blend in with the rest of the couples, gliding across the marble flooring, no stumbling or missteps. The sweet voice of the soprano from the stage cuts through the room, and it occurs to them that she’d begun to sing one of their own compositions.

“...First time I heard your voice, moonlight burst into the room…”

But Amaryllis can feel how nervous Beatrice is right now, with her stiff posture and how her hold on them tightens. They hate to see her upset, but it makes them feel so weak, how she draws them closer and holds onto them tighter. That their presence and touch is what soothes her.

Amaryllis tilts their head down to murmur into her ear. “What I’ve taught you about tension also extends to dancing,” their voice is low, and they didn’t miss the way she’d gasped, so softy, once they’d begun to speak.

“I know, it’s just,” she bites her lip, and her eyes flit to them for only a moment before she’s back to staring out into the crowd. “There are a lot of eyes on you.”

“Because they’re all jealous I’m the one dancing with you.”

“Amie,” she chides lightly, their name drawn out by a nervous giggle. Amaryllis doesn’t need to see her face to know she’s flushed, the low cut of her dress revealing the pink tinge to her chest.

“...You are so good for me…”

“Close your eyes,” Amaryllis instructs, “just focus on me, abeille.” Once Beatrice shuts her eyes, they lead her into a twirl, spinning her around and bringing her to a stop with her back to their chest. Her hair is fashioned in such a way that keeps her neck exposed, and this time when Amaryllis tilts their head down to whisper in her ear, they ghost their lips oh so faintly over her skin. “There doesn’t have to be anyone here but us.”

“...I’ll never be this happy again…”

Before Amaryllis ends up indulging themself any further, they spin her back around. Beatrice’s eyes are still shut, but she’s relaxed, her grip on them light and her shoulders back. The tempo speeds up, and she doesn’t miss a beat as they float across the floor. If they had known she was such a lovely dancer, they would have found an excuse to dance with her before now. When Beatrice opens her eyes again, she holds Amaryllis’s gaze, which hasn’t left her since she’d taken their hand.

“...You and I, and no one else.”

The song comes to a close, and the boisterous applause that comes with the conclusion of the performance is what finally breaks Beatrice out of her trance. She freezes, glancing all around with a mixture of disbelief and unease hidden behind her mask. For a split second, Amaryllis fears they’re the problem, but the idea is banished as she huddles just a little closer to them. An idea strikes.

“Come with me.” Hands still laced together, Amaryllis wraps an arm around her shoulders and leads her away from the dance floor and the guests, up one of the smaller, less busy staircases off the side of the ballroom.

“Where are we going?”

“To get some air.” They push through one of many sets of doors off the upper level of the ballroom. It’s a balcony, one Amaryllis knows is often left deserted during the festivities— it’s where they always go each year when they need a moment away from the excitement. It’s a sizable space, close enough to still hear the orchestra clearly, but left undecorated and dimly lit by only a few decorative lanterns. But tonight the full moon is shining bright, and when they turn back to Beatrice, they’re awestruck all over again.

Under the moonlight, she’s ethereal. The way it reflects off of her golden gown and illuminates her features, as though she herself is glowing. But what really does Amaryllis in is when they realize she’s staring back at them, and perhaps the mask is concealing her face too much, because they don’t understand how she could look at them with reverence.

Perhaps Beatrice has the same idea, because then she’s reaching up, her fingers are then dancing at the edge of their golden half-mask. When they make no move to stop her, she slips it off. Her own mask follows, and she rests them on a stone bench a few steps away.

She holds her hand out. “May I have this dance?”

“Always.” Amaryllis takes Beatrice into their arms once more, and this time they’re just a short breadth away from each other. When they begin to step together, it feels even more effortless than before, with Beatrice relaxed and smiling from the start. “Now, yours are the only eyes on me.”

Before Beatrice can manage a response, the orchestra’s distant waltz comes to an end, and the tempo picks up for a polka.

“Are you ready?”

“Ready for?”

“This!”

Quickly, Amaryllis leads the two of them smoothly into a triple step, skipping and twirling together around the wide open balcony. They swing Beatrice out and spin her once, twice, round and round, golden tulle swirling wide around her. When they pull her back in, she’s beaming, eyes bright under the moonlight and face lit up with her smile.

“Hold on!” Amaryllis tells her, and suddenly they’re swinging her off the ground to spin the two of them in circles. Beatrice squeals, her arms wrapping around their neck and holding tight. She buries her face into their shoulder, but they can still hear her melodious laughter. As the spinning slows, her legs find themselves around Amaryllis’s waist. They’re surprised by her boldness, but they love it, and the dizzying rush they feel isn’t from the spinning but from all the ways they’ve pictured her with her legs around their waist before.

She’s taller than them like this, looking down at them, and now there’s no mask in the way, no excuse for them not to acknowledge the way Beatrice looks at them. They hope she can see the same adoration in their eyes. Maybe, maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad to tell her as such, just to make sure she knows how enchanting she is.

Amaryllis moves one of the hands supporting Beatrice up— across her thigh, grazing over her ass, up her back, stopping when their fingers brush her skin to cup the base of her neck.

“Amie…” she whispers, soft and drawn out, almost whiny. Her gaze flits down to their lips. Amaryllis has wanted her for so long, and they know she’s wanted it too, and suddenly they feel like a fool for not taking anything she’d give them all this time. The atmosphere of the masquerade makes it so easy to just give in, all the joy and tension and coming to a head and making people reckless, easy to blame anything that might go wrong or unrequited on adrenaline and alcohol.

Then, Beatrice rushes forward to kiss them. She’s cupping their face, thumb brushing over their left cheek so gently, a stark contrast to the eager way her lips move against theirs. Amaryllis tugs her closer, as close as they can get her, and tangles their fingers into her curls. After all this time, the months of pining for her, she feels like a dream.

But all dreams do have an end.

Abruptly, the balcony doors burst open, followed by a drunken shout. “Amie!”

Startled, Beatrice pulls away, eyes cast down as she slides back down to her feet. Her hands stay on them though, and her touch is the one thing keeping Amaryllis from giving their intruding brother an earful. Vesper strides out onto the balcony, definitely drunk and completely oblivious.

“We’ve been looking all over for you!” Julian shouts, appearing all of a sudden, equally wasted and slinging an arm around Vesper’s shoulders.

“Well perhaps I didn’t want to be found-“ Amaryllis starts, but another arrival cuts them off.

“You guys,” Asra hisses from beyond the doors, “I told you to leave them be!” He stomps into the doorway, heels clacking so hard against the stone Amaryllis is surprised they don’t break. He reaches out for Vesper and Julian, prepared to drag the two men off, until he turns to find out he’s seconds too late. “Amie, Beatrice,” he greets, tone pleasant and soft again. “I see these two already managed to interrupt you.” Asra pinches Julian’s waist in retaliation, which sends him into a fit of giggles.

“It’s quite alright,” Beatrice begins, and she lets go of them to retrieve their masks. “It’s a good time to rejoin the party anyway.” She fastens her mask into place, and Amaryllis follows suit— literally and figuratively— sliding the golden half-mask over their face.

“Is it really?” Asra asks her, with a knowing grin on his face. Clearly, there’s something going on that Amaryllis doesn’t know.

“It is,” she nods. He bounds over to her then, all traces of his previous frustration gone as he takes her arm and winks at them.

“See! No harm done!” Vesper shrugs away from Julian, grabbing onto Amaryllis to drag them back into the ballroom. From in front of them, Beatrice glances back at them in silent apology. They smile back at her, the soft, genuine smile that’s reserved only for her.

“Ohhhhhh,” Vesper draws out the sound, and then switches into their native language. “I see. Does somebody have a crush?” he taunts.

“I was in the middle of something!”

“I never thought I’d see the day! My baby sibling, in love!” He pinches Amaryllis’s uncovered cheek and they swat him away.

“I could use a drink,” they try to change the subject.

He’s serious then, or at least as serious as he’s capable of being in his state. “Didn’t go well?”

“Too well.” Amaryllis hadn’t been all that bothered by the interruption, was ready to send the two away and continue where they’d left off with Beatrice. But instead she pulled away, took her hands off of them in order to rejoin a party she wasn’t pleased to be at. They didn’t want to read into things, because Amaryllis didn’t read into things. Beatrice was prone to anxiety after all, and they hoped it was as simple as too much excitement in one night.

And they keep trying not to overthink, trying to keep the idea that she might have regrets out of their mind. There are no more dances with her, and Amaryllis never manages to sneak her away again. When Beatrice decides to retire, they almost ask to join her. But Nadia whisks her away before they can, and instead they simply kiss her hand, leaving behind a mark of crimson.

After she’s gone Amaryllis doesn’t stay much longer. They slide off their mask as they retreat to their room alone, mind lingering on the dance they shared, on their own lyrics that had been floating in the air around them.

She doesn’t like crowds, she doesn’t like dancing, and she most certainly does not like being looked at. But she does like Amaryllis, so she’ll deal with the discomfort. There’s another L word that might be better suited for her feelings at this point, but she’ll stick with ‘like’ for now, thank you very much.

If the fact that a certain red haired court musician will be performing is an incentive to her ball attendance, nobody else needs to know.

And besides, this is no ordinary ball- it’s the masquerade, and it wasn’t as if she could refuse an invitation from the Countess herself. At least Beatrice can hide behind the relative anonymity of her rabbit masquerade mask and the fact that nearly every guest in attendance is already some degree of distracted or inebriated.

As she makes her way through the crush of people she finds herself looking for someone in particular, someone who she’s quite certain will be dressed in red. The golden dress Beatrice wears is a gift from Nadia, It’s something she might not have picked herself, but she has to admit it suits her. As she’d swished around in the full skirt in front of her mirror she’d admired the way the embroidered leaves on the dress seem to move as if by magic. 

Beatrice weaves her way through the busy palace halls, her head whipping around whenever she sees a flash of red. The palace is completely decked out in lights and banners and all manner of decoration, she can scarcely take it all in as she wanders from room to room. There are so many things to explore, so many wonderful foods to try and forms of entertainment to watch, but all Beatrice wants is to see Amaryllis.

It’s been a few days since she last saw Amaryllis and she misses them, more than she probably should. At this point she won’t deny the depth of her feelings for them, and the hope she has that they might feel the same. It’s exhilarating to think that Amaryllis might be interested in her, but it’s equally terrifying. She doesn’t think she could take it if they turned her down, but she has to do something. She has to know, and curiosity has always driven Beatrice to boldness.

Distracted by her thoughts and the dazzling display of masquerade extravagance, Beatrice almost runs right into someone.

“Oh, my apologies!” Beatrice’s gaze flicks up to meet familiar amethyst eyes. “Asra! I’m sorry I didn’t see you.” “Hello to you too!” Asra smiles. He holds a very full glass of champagne and she’s glad she didn't knock it out of his hands. “You look a little distracted. Are you looking for someone?”

“Oh, nobody in particular.” She waves her hand in the air flippantly, her tone of voice gone just the slightest bit squeaky as it does when she’s being untruthful. 

He raises an eyebrow in question, “Beatrice, you’re a terrible liar.” 

“Alright fine, I’m looking for Amaryllis. Have you seen them anywhere?” Beatrice sighs and smooths down the skirt of her dress.

“They’re about to perform actually, in the ballroom.” Asra gives her another smirk and if she wasn't in such a hurry to find Amaryllis she might be annoyed.

“I’m glad I ran into you then! I’d better go, I’d hate to miss anything.” 

“I’ll come with you, I want to see what they’ve got planned.” Asra weaves through the crowds with ease and Beatrice trails behind, glad she’d worn her own comfortable shoes for all of this walking rather than the tall death traps Nadia had sent for her. 

They make their way into the ballroom where most of the guests seem to be congregating. The dance floor is packed full and countless more converse on the sides of the room. There’s a raised stage in the corner but there are far too many people for them to be able to make it through to stand any closer. Beatrice and Asra settle in an alcove on the side of the ballroom, a bubble of space away from the crowds that Beatrice is very grateful for.

“Here, you look like you could use this.” Asra hands her the glass of champagne he’d been holding, and she thanks him and takes a large sip. 

Beatrice worries briefly that her lipstick will be smeared and before she can help it her mind wanders to the other ways her lipstick could be messed up this evening if she has her way. She snaps out of her fantasy as the band that had been playing abruptly stops and the ballroom is left with only the chatter of guests. The anticipation bubbles in her like the glass of champagne she’s holding. 

Amaryllis is announced and then they’re on stage and Beatrice can’t look away.

She’s seen them perform many times but now that she’s been close to them, heard how sweet their voice sounds when it's next to her ear, felt their hands on her, it’s a different experience. Though the music is simply accompaniment for the dancing to most of the guests, Beatrice is a captive audience of one. The building could be on fire around her and she probably wouldn’t notice. All she can see and hear is Amaryllis, and though they’re across the room all she can smell is roses. 

Beatrice hardly knows what they’re singing, and she takes a drink of cold champagne to clear her mind a little. When she tunes back in to her surroundings she realizes that Amaryllis is singing a love song, the one she’d heard them composing all those weeks ago when she’d been eavesdropping. Their eyes seem to search the crowd a bit more than usual, and she hopes they’re looking for her. Beatrice isn't in her usual cloak and she’s wearing a mask, so there's no way Amaryllis will see her, but the thought that they could be searching for her is nice.

She wonders briefly if she should wave to get their attention, but she would feel silly if they didn’t notice her. And besides, she shouldn't distract them while they're performing. Focus is very important, as she’d learned from Amaryllis’ lessons and the distinct lack of focus she has when they’re around. 

She doesn’t know what she’d do if Amaryllis met her eyes looking like that. Their dress is red and gold and altogether perfect for them. Their mask only half covers their face and Beatrice sees a flash of their red lips pulled up into a smirk as they walk across the stage. Amaryllis commands attention, and Beatrice is happy to give it to them. 

When the performance ends Asra turns to face Beatrice but she doesn’t notice, too busy tracking Amaryllis through the crowd. They disappear into the mass of people and she frowns, wondering if she’d be foolish to chase after them through the crowd of thousands. When Asra speaks she nearly jumps, she’d half forgotten he was there. 

“You really like them, don’t you.” It isn’t a question.

“Yes,” Beatrice sighs, “I do.” 

Asra smiles as he watches her reach for the clasp of her cloak, only to realize she’s not wearing it. Her hands move to fiddle with the ties on her mask instead. “Amaryllis likes you too, you know.” 

Beatrice does know, or at least she thinks she does. There’s no other way to interpret their lingering glances, their appearance at the school, their eagerness to see her. But still, Beatrice worries. “I think they do, but how can you be sure?” 

“Amaryllis doesn’t teach just anyone Beatrice, and they showed up to your school which is honestly a big favor considering how kids can act,” Asra laughs. “Hey! My students are very well behaved,”  Beatrice huffs, frowning at him.

Asra puts a hand up in defense, smile still in place. He’d come to visit her once on a lunch break and had seen first hand how rowdy kids on a playground can be, but he chooses not to antagonize her further. “It’s still a pretty big favor to ask, considering how busy Amaryllis is, and they did it for you.” 

He’s right of course. Beatrice thinks back to the lesson, the last time she’d seen Amaryllis. They’d worn a green dress, but the addition of a new color in their wardrobe wasn’t the most uncharacteristic thing about that day. Amaryllis had opened up to her, just a little, and the knowledge that they trust her enough to do so makes her feel warm inside. It makes her feel brave enough to talk to them honestly, like they’d done with her. 

Beatrice’s hands move from her mask to her skirt, fingers picking at one of the applique leaves. “I just don’t know what to do Asra. We haven’t talked about how we feel, they haven’t expressed any interest.” 

“Beatrice, they absolutely have. We’ve all noticed how Amaryllis acts around you, they’re always looking for you specifically, even in a crowd. And were you even listening to their performance just now? All of the songs were love songs and I’d be willing to bet Amaryllis was thinking of you when they wrote them.” 

Beatrice stares down at her shoes, trying to hide the blush that just peaks out from beneath her mask. If other people have noticed their interest as well, she must not be imagining things. Her reticence to act is not because she doubts that Amaryllis could want her, it’s more that she's afraid to assume that they want her. If Amaryllis asked, she’d be theirs in a heartbeat, probably less than a heartbeat. 

“What should I do then? I can’t just walk up to Amie and kiss them.” Beatrice’s blush returns as she imagines doing just that. She’s spent so long wanting to kiss them that she’s pretty sure the shock of actually doing so would short circuit her brain.

Asra snorts and Beatrice looks up to see his amused expression. “Well you could, but considering this is you we’re talking about, I think you should just talk to them.”

“I know I should, but what do I even say? What if they don’t actually like me and this is all some big misunderstanding?” Her tone must betray her worry and Asra reaches out to place a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Beatrice, Amaryllis likes you.” 

“Really?” Her lips pull into the hint of a smile, her brow unfurrowing. 

“Yes really! Now stop arguing with me about it and go find them!” Asra gestures to the ballroom with a flourish and Beatrice laughs.

“Thank you, Asra.” Beatrice smiles at her friend and drains the last of her champagne.

“Good luck Beatrice, and don’t come back until you’ve kissed them!” 

Beatrice rolls her eyes at Asra, “With all of the jokes you’re making you’d think you were the court fool.” 

“I’m being serious, go kiss Amaryllis,” Asra laughs, giving her a gentle shove out of the corner they’re standing in.

“Perhaps I will!” Her tone is defiant and though she’s mostly joking, she wonders again what would happen if she did. Would their lipstick stain her lips red? She’d like to find out. 

“Good!” Asra says.

“Fine!”  Beatrice stifles a nervous laugh and turns to face the crowd.

She walks the perimeter of the room, eyes once again looking for any flash of red or any familiar face to point her in the right direction. It feels a bit like when she goes to the library searching for one particular book but with no idea how to find it. The library really needs a more organized system, she thinks, perhaps she should ask Nadia about it? It isn’t like she has enough free time to do the task herself, but would anyone else be able to organize it in a way that makes practical sense? 

A flash of red in the corner of her eye brings her attention back to the task at hand- Amaryllis. Right, she’s looking for Amaryllis. 

She turns back towards the dance floor and suddenly Amaryllis is right there, only a few feet away with their ruby eyes stuck on hers. Beneath their mask Beatrice watches their lips, the ones she’s been thinking so much about this evening, pull into a smile. She can’t help but beam at them in return. Amaryllis says something to the man they’d been dancing with and then they’re on the way to her, the crowd seeming to part around them. 

All she can see is Amaryllis, red and gold and beautiful.

It sounded like a silly thing to lament over, but it was easy for a good student to sniff out a bad teacher. So, Amaryllis needed to work extra hard to appear as natural as possible in such a position. It didn’t help that yesterday Nadia had also informed them that Beatrice happened to be a teacher herself. Not versed in music, but there had to be a method to these things that it was clear they would be missing.

She’d come prepared, with a journal for notes, water, and even mentioned she took time to practice last night. Despite her outward anxiety, it was clear Beatrice felt excited. But, her attitude didn’t change Amaryllis’s  unpreparedness. So far, they had been improvising, banking on her lack of experience and their charisma to fill in the blanks. They were nothing if not an actor.

Now, the two had finished discussing Beatrice’s experience level, as never having had an instructor meant very little. Amaryllis never had one either and they were doing fine. That detail they left out though. But she was proficient on the piano and had a secure grasp on reading music, and had sung for fun her entire life.

Amaryllis stood from the chaise where the two had been sitting side by side. They held out a hand to Beatrice, whose eyes flashed from their face to the offered hand before taking it. Without thought, their thumb brushed over the back of her hand, her skin soft to the touch. As soon as she was on her feet she pulled away, and Amaryllis mourned the loss.

“An important part of singing is remembering your whole body is the instrument. You need to be mindful of your entire being. It may sound difficult, but with practice it will become second nature.” Amaryllis explains as they watch Beatrice watch them. Her hazel eyes dart away when the two make eye contact.

“First step to a session is to stretch. You want your body to be loose, especially your torso. Follow after me.” Amaryllis raises their arms above their head, stretching their shoulders. “Hold for thirty,” They instruct, looking to Beatrice for understanding. Though instead of stretching, she’s starting again. This time, her gaze is on the hem of their dress, where it’s ridden up due to the stretching. The already risqué length had become even more revealing, pale skin a striking contrast to their dark outfit.

“See something you like?” The taunt snaps Beatrice out of it, and her hands nervously dart to the clasp of her cloak. “That seems a little heavy, perhaps you'd like to take it off?”

“Ah, um, yes! Of course.” her fingers stop their fiddling to undo the clasp, and she slips off the garment and hangs it on the back of a chair. Now, it’s Amaryllis’s turn to stare. Sans-cloak, Beatrice is in a light-colored lace gown. It was modest— especially compared to Amaryllis— but not any less mesmerizing. Beatrice catches them staring and they do nothing to hide that they were, lips quirked into a sly grin. She clears her throat, eager to continue.

“So what exactly is the reasoning for loosening up?”

“Tension in your body puts strain on your muscles, including the ones used in signing. When that happens, your ability and range gets cut a significant amount. Proper posture goes hand in hand with relaxation. One can have the most beautiful voice, but it all falls apart if they’re holding themself wrong.”

Together, they finish up the basic stretches, and Amaryllis retreats to the piano. They finger out a simple scale a few times over, ruby eyes never leaving Beatrice.

“Sing for me.“

An inhale, a shaky exhale, and then she begins to vocalize. She’s very quiet, Amaryllis can hardly hear her over the sound of the piano. But they smile at her and nod, a small push of encouragement. Little by little, she loosens up, growing louder as they go through the scales. Moving up and down in octaves until they pass Beatrice’s range. Her voice is light and airy, ethereal despite the hesitation behind it. An impressive high range, and that was with no breath control practice. When they told her yesterday they'd make her into a prima donna, it had been to tease. But now they’ve heard her, Amaryllis thought it might not be an impossible feat.

Amaryllis ceases their playing. Still watching Beatrice, they could pick up on the subtle tremors that ran through her. She was doing her very best to be discreet in regards to her nerves. They stood from the bench to direct her to sit back down on the chaise, fetching water for her in the process. As she drank it down, Amaryllis fought the impulse to brush her hair back out of her face. The urge to comfort her with any touch. But they didn't know how such a gesture would be received, and the unusual desire to do so brought them discomfort.

“You have a beautiful voice,” their soft complement breaks through the silence. Beatrice looked at them with wide eyes, expression flattered and confused all at once. “It’s true. Right now, your biggest setback is your nerves, and that will fade in time. But the tension you carry because of it can create pitch issues.”

“Oh,” Beatrice whispers, voice trailing off as she takes in the information. Her mouth opens to finish her thought, but loses her words when Amaryllis’s hand is on her chin. They tilt her head up to look at them, the same way they'd done so yesterday.

“You should always accept a compliment as if you truly believe it. That way, one day, you will.”

“I-”

“Your voice is beautiful.” Beatrice looks torn, face flushed and Amaryllis can tell she wants to glance away from them so badly. But she doesn't, and they stand over her patiently while she finds the resolve they know she has.

“Thank you.” Her voice is steady, and while Amaryllis knows it's not likely she believes it yet, it's certainly a good start. Satisfied, their thumb brushes across Beatrice’s jaw before pulling away. They don't watch for any reaction, deciding they've maybe pushed her a bit too much already. Standing across the room now, they decide to get back to the actual vocal lesson.

“Now that I've heard you sing without any corrections, let's go over what exactly we'll work on together.”

The rest of the lesson passes faster than Amaryllis wanted it to. They go over breath control and pitch issues, how to practice and how to work the areas she needed to in particular. Beatrice was attentive, asked careful questions and took detailed notes. The next time Amaryllis had her sing she did so with a little less hesitance. Their own hesitance surrounding teaching faded too. It felt less like they were teacher and student, and more like they were having a conversation. Before they knew it, two hours had passed, and didn’t want to keep Beatrice any longer. Even if a persistent part of their mind said they did.

“Well, It's about time you gave your voice a rest. I‘d consider this first session a great success.” Beatrice stood a few feet away from where Amaryllis sat on the bench. She looked almost disappointed at the concept of the lesson’s conclusion. Glancing around the room, her eyes landed on the grandfather clock in the corner.

“Ah, I suppose you are correct,” her hands darted to where her cloak normally sat. When she found it missing, her fingers faltered. “So how often do you think I should have lessons?”

“Weekly will be best. Much of the progress you're going to make will happen during practice. And as long as you take time to do so each day, you'll see it in little time. But if you have questions or need assistance outside of lessons, you know where to find me.” Amaryllis retrieved their grimoire from the piano lid as Beatrice gathered her things. The green cloak resumed its place on her shoulders, and Amaryllis felt endeared by the quirk. Together, they made for the doors.

“Amaryllis, I,” Beatrice began once they exited the room, “I’d like to thank you. I never thought I'd ever take lessons, let alone ones from you.” The admiration of others rarely phased them, it was another aspect of their everyday. But Beatrice’s gratitude made them feel something unlike any kind they’d received before.

“The pleasure is all mine. You're a very promising student after all.”

“Thank you,” she said with the same conviction as she did after Amaryllis’s complement earlier. Feeling a sense of pride, they smiled at her, genuine.

“Have a good evening, Beatrice.”

⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯

Beatrice shows up to the next lesson early, notebook and water in hand. She tries the door to the practice room and finds it locked, so she sinks down onto the floor to sit and wait. She’s just pulled her notebook out of her bag and is reviewing her notes from last week when she hears the now familiar sound of Amaryllis’ heels approaching down the hallway. She hurriedly stuffs the notebook back into her bag just as Amaryllis turns the corner. “Well hello,” Amaryllis smiles, offering their hand to help Beatrice up, “Need a hand?”

“Oh, yes thank you,” Beatrice takes their hand, trying not to seem too eager as she reaches for them. She lets go of their hand as soon as she’s up, not wanting to make things awkward by lingering.

“Shall we begin?” Amaryllis says, holding the door open for her. She sets her bag down on the chaise and takes her cloak off, not noticing the way Amaryllis watches her from across the room. Her hands go to her clothes, making sure her blouse is tucked in properly and fluffing the fabric of her skirt to make sure it lays flat. She takes a sip of water, a deep breath, and turns to face Amaryllis.

This lesson starts better than the last. Beatrice is less nervous now that she knows what to expect, now that she knows that Amaryllis is both a good teacher and a kind person. She hadn’t expected ridicule by any means, but hearing genuine compliments from them had made her both slightly giddy and a lot more confident. Beatrice loves to learn and if she simply treats these lessons as just that, a lesson, a chance to learn something, she’ll be fine.

As she sings through a few warm up exercises her eyes follow Amaryllis as they play the piano. They seem to notice her staring at them and look up to meet her eyes, causing Beatrice to falter on the note. She tries to recover from the mistake quickly but Amaryllis stops playing and stands up from the piano bench, taking a step towards her.

“You’re too tense again,” Amaryllis explains, their hands going to her shoulders to gently push them down from where she’d lifted them as she'd sung, “Relax your shoulders, remember what I said about tension and stress?” 

“Yes, I remember,” Beatrice smiles, willing her voice to stay steady and her shoulders not to shake under their touch. Amaryllis returns the smile as their left hand gently moves further down her shoulder. They fiddle with the ruffle on her sleeve briefly before removing both of their hands and taking a step away from her. Beatrice breathes in sharply in response and tries to ignore the feeling of her sleeves pressing against her arms just as Amaryllis’ fingers had been

“You’re doing very well, Beatrice. Just relax,” Amaryllis says as they return to their place at the piano bench. She’s grateful that they’re busy shuffling through sheet music and can’t see the way her cheeks color at the praise. They start to play one of the songs she’d sung last week and nod at her to begin. 

Beatrice makes it through with only minor mistakes but she still can’t seem to focus when Amaryllis looks up from the piano to watch her. She messes up words, sings off key, and even sometimes grows so quiet she can’t be heard until Amaryllis looks away. She struggles to fight against these reactions, deciding to stare at a spot on the wall behind them so that she won’t notice Amaryllis looking at her. It seems to work and the next run through of the song goes more smoothly. 

During a water break Beatrice gives herself a pep talk, reminding herself that this is simply a lesson, something she can learn to excel at if she follows the rules. The reminder gives her some resolve and she’s able to focus her attention on singing rather than her (very distracting) teacher. As she sings she remembers to breathe and relax her shoulders, she tries to tune out everything but the notes from the piano. She hits a note she’d struggled to hit the week before and smiles in surprise. Her eyes float down from their safe spot on the wall to look at Amaryllis, who watches them with an unreadable expression on their face before it fades into something more neutral.

“That was great!” Amaryllis says, “Let’s do that part again to see if you can hit the note twice in a row.”

The lesson moves quickly once she’s able to focus, and before she knows it Beatrice is pulling her cloak back on and preparing to leave. She stands by the door for a moment, watching as Amaryllis gathers their sheet music. Though the sight of them still makes her a bit nervous, the feeling has faded from self consciousness to something else, something she doesn’t quite want to think about yet.

“You’ve improved since last week,” Amaryllis says, turning around to face her. They give her an encouraging smile and Beatrice meets their eyes, for once managing not to blush as they gaze at her.

“You think so?” Beatrice asks, returning the smile.

“You’re a very quick learner when you’re using that brain of yours to focus instead of overthinking,” Amaryllis replies, their smile turning into more of a smirk. Beatrice does blush then, laughing under her breath as she stares down at her boots.

“Yes, well, I’m working on it,” She says, fiddling with the closure on her overstuffed bag, “I’m glad to hear I’m improving.” 

“You really are, just make sure to practice so you can remember everything you’ve learned this week.” Amaryllis holds the door open for her, gesturing for her to walk out before them. She suddenly feels like she should say something else, the lesson had come to a close too quickly.

“Amaryllis,” Beatrice starts, wondering what she should even say. Should she ask them if they’re going to dinner at the palace? Should she suggest going somewhere else together? No. Surely Amaryllis sees her as nothing more than a student, or maybe a friend if she’s lucky. There’s no guarantee Amaryllis would want to spend more time with her than is necessary, so she changes course, “Thanks again.” 

“You’re very welcome. I’ll see you next week, Beatrice,” Amaryllis replies, turning to walk down the hall.

Beatrice watches them go, trying not to let her eyes linger in places they shouldn’t. Amaryllis’ tight dress leaves nothing to the imagination, and if Beatrice is being honest she has been imagining. She clears her throat and turns the other direction, headed back to the safety of the palace proper. It’ll be a long week waiting to see them again.

⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯

“It’s impressive,” Beatrice comments one day, in the middle of a lesson.

“What’s impressive?” They hadn’t been discussing anything in particular, so it seemed out of place.

“The dedication you have for your craft, all the effort you put into it. And I'm sure I don't even know the half of it.” As she explained, Beatrice sounded composed, but her rosy cheeks gave her away.

Amaryllis blinked, somewhat stunned, though they gave no outward indication of it. They had already recognized that hearing praise from Beatrice felt different somehow. But since their lessons had begun, the flutter they felt when she did so had only grown.

“Please,” Amaryllis waved a dismissive hand, “when you've been at it for as long as I have, it’s hardly any effort at all.”

“You know, I recall you telling me a few weeks ago to, ‘always accept a compliment as if you truly believe it’.”

Beatrice’s words paired with the smug air she said them with caught Amaryllis by surprise. For a split-second, all they could do was stare at her. Being called out for deflection, with their own words, was unexpected from her. As they'd known Beatrice thus far, it was uncharacteristic. And so was their own delight at the notion Beatrice was becoming more comfortable with them. Recovered, they propped their elbows back on the piano, leaning back against it.

All Amaryllis could think of was different ways they'd like to wipe the smirk off her rose-tinted lips. They favored the concept of doing so with their own mouth.

“Do you now?” they mimicked her attitude, cocky expression falling into place as easy as breathing. Easier, even. “I hope you’ve been practicing that part of my lessons too. I’m sure you get enough compliments to do so.” At least, Amaryllis hoped she did, that at least someone was out there taking the time to cherish her. Instead of the bashful reaction they had been hoping for, Beatrice frowned.

“Ah, not usually, no-“

“That’s a shame,” they cut her off, stepping away from the piano to stand before her. Being this close made that flutter Amaryllis was feeling speed up. The last thing they wanted was for Beatrice to frown. And if no one else was taking the time to tell her all the sweet things she should hear, they were more than happy to step up. Accepting compliments built confidence, and confidence was vital to singing. It was simply another part of the lesson, that was all. With a gentle hand, Amaryllis brushed tawny waves out of her face, keeping her from hiding behind them now. “With how lovely you are, I had expected there'd be someone to shower you with sweet words."

Voice low and velvety, they ran their fingers down her cheek. Nails just barely grazing her neck before their hand pulled away. Beatrice wasn't frowning anymore, but was watching them with wide-eyed astonishment. For a moment, Amaryllis's resolve faltered.

They thought about kissing her, it would only take another step, a tilt of her head. But, what actually shocked Amaryllis is that they did not. Instead, as swift as they had approached, they were back against the piano.

Beatrice was their student, and so it would be improper to persue her...

…Which didn’t hold up in the slightest, because never in their life had they cared about what was proper or not. Student or not, under typical circumstances, Amaryllis would have had her in their bed by now. But that was it, wasn’t it? That nothing concerning Beatrice was at all typical. From their opposition to simply seducing her to their reactions to the things that she did. Amaryllis couldn’t recall a time when they’d felt this way before.

They had decided to entertain their intrigue when they offered her lessons. But Amaryllis hadn’t imagined that it would shift in the direction they were afraid it was heading.

“Thank you,” her breathy voice pulled them back into the room. It took them a second to realize she was thanking them for the compliment. Beatrice was biting her lip, watching them with those hazel eyes they couldn’t quite get a read on.

All they could do was turn away from her, but not before they could hide away their smile. Amaryllis tried to stay focused on the lesson, and not on the dangerous territory they were heading into.

⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯

They’ve done more talking than singing, Beatrice realizes as she looks at the clock. It’s been an hour since the lesson started and they’ve been sitting on the couch talking the entire time, neither realizing how much time has passed. The topics of conversation have ranged, what began as small talk about the rainy weather had evolved into how they’d each come to be employed at the palace. Amaryllis doesn’t give many details, but Beatrice drinks in every piece of their story she can get and tries to ignore the urge to pry.

Over the course of the hour Beatrice has loosened up considerably, her posture is slouched and her legs are tucked under her as she sits criss cross on the couch rather than her usual polite ankle cross. She’s surprised to find how easy it is to talk to Amaryllis, how easily she can let her guard down to talk about herself more than she usually would. When Amaryllis asks a question she finds herself answering without thinking. They seem genuinely interested in her answers, leaning towards her as she speaks and asking follow up questions.

“What made you want to teach?” Amaryllis asks, their voice pulling her gaze back from the clock on the wall.

“Well, I never had a real education as a child, I learned manners and needlepoint and all sorts of useless things like that, but science, literature, history- everything I know I’ve learned on my own,” Beatrice explains, her voice rising in volume as it often does when she’s excited, “Vesuvia doesn’t offer an education for those who can’t afford to pay tutors, and I think that should change.” 

“So you just marched up to the Countess and suggested opening a school?” Amaryllis grins, their eyes trained to Beatrice’s face which is for once free of any hint of anxiety as she smiles proudly at them. The image of Beatrice stomping up the palace steps in her green cloak with a look of determination on her face makes Amaryllis suppress a laugh. 

“Believe it or not, I did! I requested a meeting and left less than an hour later to pick a spot to build the school,” Beatrice laughs, “Nadia wasn’t difficult to convince.”

“I’m sure you can be very convincing when you want to be,” Amaryllis says, reaching to play with the lace trim at the bottom of her dress. Beatrice watches the action closely, not pulling away when their hand briefly brushes against her leg. “Well, I suppose we should get started on the singing lesson, we’ve delayed quite a bit.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Beatrice nearly trips over her dress as she gets up from the chaise.

“You have nothing to apologize for, I very much enjoyed getting to know you better,” Amaryllis replies, smoothing their clothing down as they walk across the room to the piano.

“I enjoyed it too,” Beatrice smiles, “getting to know you.” 

“I should have you play sometime, I remember you being quite proficient during our first lesson,” Amaryllis says as they take their seat at the instrument. 

“Well, I’m afraid I’m not very accomplished anymore. I wish I had more time to practice the piano, but there are only so many hours in a day,” Beatrice replies, taking her usual spot standing next to them.

“Would you like to play something now?” Amaryllis suggests, patting the spot next to them on the piano bench, “I’m sure you’re great.”

“Oh, well, sure if you’d like to hear me play,” Beatrice hesitates for a moment before she takes a seat next to them, trying to smooth her dress down a bit so she doesn’t take up too much room on the bench. Amaryllis smiles and moves a bit closer so that their leg is pressed to hers, she can feel the warmth of their skin through the fabric of her dress and works hard to regain her composure.

“I would love to hear you play,” Amaryllis says directly into her ear, their mouth barely brushing against her skin. She manages to only shiver the tiniest bit as Amaryllis leans away from her again, turning their attention back to the piano. Beatrice takes an only slightly shaky breath and reaches for the keys. Her fingers pluck a familiar tune, one she’d learned when she was younger and forced to sit through hours of lessons every day. She shuts her eyes as she plays it by memory, tuning out Amaryllis next to her and the distracting ticking of the clock on the wall behind her. 

When she finishes the song, a short piece designed more for practice than performance, she pulls her hands back into her lap and looks up at Amaryllis to gauge their reaction. The smile on their face is different than any Beatrice has seen before. It has more emotion behind it, admiration perhaps, and she feels a flutter in her stomach at the thought. 

“That was lovely, Beatrice. I thought you said you were out of practice? That sounded well practiced to me,” Amaryllis laughs, the smile replaced by their usual expression.

“Thank you. I used to hate that song so much, it would get stuck in my head for hours and I’d  find myself playing the notes in the air all the time like some sort of compulsion,” Beatrice sighs, her fingers flexing in her lap at the memory, “But I’m glad the torment payed off.” 

“Well I’ll stop torturing you then,” Amaryllis jokes, bumping Beatrice slightly off the piano bench with their hip, “I think we’ll leave the piano to me for now, let’s begin the lesson.”

⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯

Amaryllis’s fingers still on the keys of the piano as the song comes to an end. Beatrice’s singing was lovely— as always— but something was off. What, they weren’t exactly sure. The warm up went fine, she didn’t seem stiff or nervous in the slightest, and  minimal issues with her pitch. She’d taken a breath or two at a bad moment, and at one point a whole note became a half, but neither of those were serious.

They realize that they may just be projecting their feelings onto her. A comment of hers from before had been bothering Amaryllis, much more than it should have. Beatrice’s anecdote about having no say in performing a song that she hated had struck close to home. Literally.

Beatrice had never given any indication that she was unhappy with the music they chose for her. But Amaryllis had never directly asked her what she wanted to sing either.

“Amaryllis, is everything alright?” Beatrice spoke up. Suddenly they realized they hadn’t said a word in the time since the song had concluded. There was a nervous edge to her voice, the tone making an unwelcome appearance for the first time in weeks.

“Yes, I apologize,” they stood from the bench, feeling the sudden urge to move.

“Is there, um, a problem?” Her words were hesitant, uneasy. When Amaryllis turned to her, Beatrice's eyes were downcast, focused on the carpet.

“Oh, ma chérie, no. You were wonderful, don’t worry.” The endearment had slipped out without thought. Bringing a hand to her back, Amaryllis ushered her over to sit with them. They felt uneasy, but maintained their composure, focused on how soft the satin of her dress felt.

“Sorry, I-” Amaryllis faltered. Their hand was still at her back, lower now, and as much as they longed to leave it there they knew they shouldn't. Not only was the gesture a little too friendly, but feeling how thin her dress seemed to be was distracting. “I’d like to ask, what kind of music do you want to sing?”

Once Beatrice had taken in their question, she relaxed, taking a moment to consider her answer.

“I suppose whatever kind suits my voice best?” She sounded uncertain, and her hazel eyes flitting back to the ground was a confirmation. Amaryllis was having none of that.

“Ah,” their hand came up to her chin, tilting her gaze back to them, “that’s not how this works.” The two were close, but not quite as close as they had been at the piano bench last week. As Amaryllis looked down at her, the rose-colored lipstick she wore caught their eye. They gave into the temptation to stare, for a little too long.

Amaryllis is back to the same dilemma as they had been weeks ago. They wanted to kiss her, wanted to see the color on her lips smeared and mixed with their own. It was the same conundrum, but it had grown far more complicated than it had been weeks ago.

They dreaded the conclusion of their lessons, and counted the days until the next one. And between lessons they’d started seeing each other much more often during the rest of the week. During court functions and other meetings, Amaryllis had found themself in Beatrice's company. They ran into each other in the halls of the palace— literally, one time— and when on stage they looked for her in the crowd. She was never difficult to spot.

As of late, their compositions reflected their feelings. Even inspiration for the masquerade came easy, knowing she'd be in that crowd too.

Amaryllis wanted her. But now, they wanted far more than a kiss or a single night, and not in the way they were familiar with wanting someone. Wanted to hold her hand, wanted to listen to her ramble, wanted to sing with her. Wanted to know her, and had even contemplated letting her know them in return.

But they couldn’t let themself. It was foolish— to be afraid of the feelings and to have them at all in the first place. In some ways, it felt like something of a betrayal. Beatrice had trusted Amaryllis to instruct her, not to fall for her.

Finally, they avert their gaze, torn to see Beatrice watching them with a similar longing. It would have been far easier to lean into her instead of pulling themself away completely. Even if Amaryllis knew she'd be receptive, they had to have some self-preservation. They knew it wouldn’t be enough to just take what they could get from her. It would be better to let the infatuation fade than feed the fire; it would hurt far less.

“Passion is far more important.” Amaryllis leans back against the chaise. “Doing what’s ‘technically’ correct means nothing if it's not what makes you happy. Singing for the sake of arbitrary rules will only bring you dread.” They're familiar with the way it feels to lose your passion, and the trauma of it was a deep-seated pain. Beatrice’s brow creases as they speak, picking up on what their insistence indicates. “So when I ask you what you’d like to sing, I need you to answer with how you feel.”

“I’d like to sing things that I can find meaning in. The song we’ve been working on, it’s beautiful, but I can’t relate to it no matter how I attempt to interpret it. Coming from me it feels insincere.”

“I may have something in particular you'd like.” The words are out before Amaryllis can even grasp what exactly they were deciding to offer. But they couldn't take it back now, not with the delighted way Beatrice was looking at them.

Without standing, they motion in the air, and their grimoire soars over from where it had placed on the piano. Amaryllis sets the book of music before them. With their hands on the cover, they whisper the incantation that unlocks it.

Beatrice had scooted forward, leaning in, but still far enough for her to pretend she wasn't being nosy. Amaryllis knew she must have a billion questions, and they would happily listen to her voice each one. But, she only asked one.

“What is it about?”

It was a simple question, but not one with a simple answer. That was why Amaryllis had written it into a song after all. Emotions and experiences were too difficult for them to express in a usual manner. If their feelings were to be expressed at all, they had to do so in a different way.

“You’ll see,” they left it at that, casting the projection spell for the piano. Sitting up straight, Amaryllis rolled their shoulders back, and began to sing.

The lyrics they sang painted the picture of a neglected child. The intense sorrow they felt. What they dreamed of to help them through each day. The helplessness that came when they realized the dreams were only that. Dreams, and nothing more.

With a final, shaky note, they looked to Beatrice. She was silent, lips parted and eyes glassy. For a moment, Amaryllis worries they'd upset her, but then she reaches out to rest her hand on their knee.

“Amaryllis, that was beautiful,” she blinks away the tears that had threatened to fall. “You’d trust me to sing that?”

“Of course,” they place their hand over hers.

“Then, I’d love to.”

⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯

Beatrice wakes up groggily, rolling over in bed only to come face to face with a rabbit staring directly at her. “Oh, good morning, Bramble,” she says, reaching to scratch the rabbit between her ears. She winces at the sound of her voice, it sounds scratchy and her throat hurts a bit when she swallows. She decides to test her voice again, “Shall we get some breakfast?” it’s definitely still scratchy. 

She worries as she goes about her morning routine, wondering if she’ll be able to sing at all later. She’s been practicing in all of her spare moments, and perhaps that’s why she has no voice left for her real practice. Still, work doesn’t stop for a lost voice and she has a meeting with Nadia in an hour so she clasps her cloak, grabs her bag, and starts the trek across town.

When she arrives in Nadia’s parlor, a prompt five minutes early, she realizes how winded she feels. The moment she opens her mouth to greet Nadia she knows she might really be in trouble. 

“Good morning,” She croaks, pasting a cheerful smile on her face in the hopes of distracting the Countess. 

“Oh dear, Beatrice are you feeling alright? You sound quite ill,” Nadia says, looking worried as she stands in the doorway regarding her. 

“I’m fine, just a sore throat,” Beatrice replies, holding back a wince as her throat grates. 

‘You don’t sound fine, I believe you should go home and rest. You’re in no position to give a presentation this morning,” Nadia’s tone of voice brooks no argument and Beatrice hangs her head a bit as she tries to think of a way to convince her. Beatrice doesn’t take days off, certainly not for a sore throat. “I shall have a servant get you a carriage.”

“I’m fine, really! Don’t go to the trouble,” She pleads, but Nadia simply shakes her head and points to the doorway.

“Go home, take some time to rest, Beatrice,” Nadia says kindly. Beatrice sighs and starts to gather her things, there’s no use, Nadia’s right. She can barely make an audible sound, there’s nothing to do but wait for her voice to come back. 

As Beatrice heads to the Palace gates she’s so lost in her thoughts that she doesn’t think about her lesson with Amaryllis. She all but forgets about it until she spots a familiar maroon haired figure approaching from across the foyer. 

“Beatrice, you’re here early,” Amaryllis says, looking equal parts bemused and excited to see her. 

“I was just leaving,” Beatrice rasps, “ Lost my voice,” 

“Yes I should say you have,” Amaryllis frowns, putting a hand on Beatrice’s forehead as if to check for a fever. She stares at them wide-eyed as they deliberate and finally pull their hand away. “Does your throat hurt as well?” 

“Yes,” She says, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can sing today.” 

“No, I don’t think you can. You should go home and rest, you’ve been practicing too much,” They reply, they’re still stooped down a bit to meet her eyes and Beatrice finds it hard to focus with them this close to her.

“I’m sorry,” Beatrice manages to say, feeling terrible from the pain and because she’ll be missing out on a lesson.

Beatrice thinks back to their last lesson, the way Amaryllis had opened up to her and allowed her to listen to their music. She doesn’t want to miss another chance at that closeness, both emotional and physical. There had been times over the last few weeks where Beatrice could have sworn Amaryllis might kiss her. They’d stared directly at her lips, only a slight tilt of the head away from meeting her lips with their own. But it hadn't happened, and it never will, Beatrice reminds herself. Amaryllis is her teacher, and though they’ve begun to spend more time together outside of lessons she’s sure it’s out of friendly obligation and nothing more. 

“Don’t apologize to me, apologize to your poor vocal chords.” Amaryllis straightens up to their full height and takes a step back from her. They seem to be deep in thought for a moment before almost hesitantly adding, “Go home, I’ll bring you some tea to help with your throat.” 

“Oh, you really don’t have to do that,” Beatrice protests, her face already flushing at the thought of them being so concerned for her.

“Stop talking, you’ll make things worse,” Amaryllis says, “It’s the building on the corner by the hat shop, yes?” Beatrice is a little surprised that Amaryllis remembers where she lives, she’d only mentioned it once in passing a few weeks ago.

“Yes,” Beatrice starts, but at Amaryllis’ stern look she shuts her mouth and nods instead. 

“Now go rest,” They say, red lips pulling into their characteristic smile, “I’ll be by later.” 

When she gets home Beatrice kicks her boots off and changes into something comfortable. She chugs a glass of water but it’s too cold and burns the whole way down. It might just be her throat that hurts, but she finds herself quite tired. She’d refused the carriage ride home, deeming it unnecessary, and the walk back home had taken her longer than usual. She wants to take a nap, but if Amaryllis is coming by later she wants to make sure her house is tidy first.

After a quick speed clean, which she might’ve used some magic to do more quickly, she collapses into bed. What feels like five minutes later there's a knock on the door and she sits up with a start, hurriedly smoothing her hair down as she goes to answer the door. She holds her breath a little as she opens the door, seeing Amaryllis standing in her doorway is not a sight she’d ever expected to see. 

“Hello,” Amaryllis smiles as they take in Beatrice standing before them in her socks and a simple tunic, so different from her usual fancy clothing. She fidgets uncomfortably under their gaze, “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” They raise an eyebrow, and Beatrice rushes to open the door wider for them to enter. 

“You didn’t have to come all this way,” She says hoarsely, watching as Amaryllis looks around her apartment. It’s not large, just the living area and a separate bedroom and bathroom off of a hallway. She’s glad she’d tidied before Amaryllis arrived, they’re used to Palace accommodations, and her little home in Center City certainly isn’t that. 

“I took a carriage, it took no time at all,” Amaryllis replies, taking a small pouch of tea leaves out of their bag. “The coachman said you decided to walk, why would you do that when you were already feeling unwell?” 

The question takes Beatrice off guard and she watches as Amaryllis walks into her kitchen like they live there, filling her kettle with water and setting it to boil. “It was unnecessary,” she responds when they turn around to look at her, “I didn’t need anyone to go to the trouble on my behalf.”

“If someone offers to help you, let them help you,” Amaryllis says, their face gone serious as they work to prepare the tea. “And it’s no trouble to take care of someone who’s always taking care of others.” 

They look a bit taken aback at their own words and immediately turn their back to Beatrice as they pour the tea. Though she wonders at their reaction it gives Beatrice a chance to take a deep breath and rid herself of the blush on her face. When Amaryllis turns around they’re brandishing a teacup, Beatrice’s favorite though they couldn’t have known that. 

“Do you have any honey? It’ll help your throat even more,” They ask. Beatrice nods and goes to the cupboard next to them, reaching on her tiptoes to grab the jar of honey from the back. Amaryllis watches her with a smirk as she manages to reach it and hands the jar to them. 

“What tea is that?” Beatrice asks, taking in the slightly familiar aroma.

“It’s ginger tea, now sit,” They point to the couch in the middle of the room, “And drink.” 

Beatrice takes the cup from them, trying not to react to their fingers brushing hers, and takes a seat. The tea tastes better than she thought it would, and the honey makes it sweet enough for her to actually enjoy. Amaryllis sits on the opposite end of the couch and watches as she sips the tea. She holds back a sigh as the warm beverage soothes her throat.

“I think you need to cut down on how much you’re practicing. You also need to take more frequent vocal breaks to rest, and I’m leaving this tea with you. You should have some after you practice,” Amaryllis says. Beatrice nods and continues to drink her tea, not wanting to interrupt their instruction. Amaryllis moves a bit closer to her and Beatrice turns towards them, nearly losing her grip on the teacup when they reach out to twist their finger around one of the curls that hangs near her face. Though she’s grown more used to their casual touches over time, she still finds herself flustered by how delicately they brush the lock of hair behind her ear.

“You’re making a lot of progress, Beatrice, but you shouldn’t push yourself so hard that you get hurt,” Amaryllis explains, their eyes locked to hers, “You need to take better care of your instrument.” 

“I will,” Beatrice says in assurance. Her voice already sounds a bit better, and it didn’t hurt as much to speak. She smiles at the realization that the tea really had helped, and Amaryllis watches in amusement as Beatrice downs the rest of the cup like one would take a shot of alcohol. 

“I need to get back for a performance tonight, promise me you’ll stay home and rest? If I see you at the Palace next week and you’re still croaking I’ll have to come up with something stronger, and it won’t be sweetened with honey,” Amaryllis threatens, but the smile on their face takes away from the effect.

“I promise,” Beatrice replies, holding her pinky out to theirs to make a pinky promise. Amaryllis stares at her finger for a moment before laughing under their breath and linking their pinky with hers.

“Good,” They stand up to gather their belongings and head towards the door, “Thanks for letting me visit your lovely home, I do hope I can make a return visit someday.” 

“I hope so too,” Beatrice says, meeting their eyes for a moment before her eyes dart away to the bookcase next to them, something safer to stare at, “Thank you for the tea.” 

“My pleasure, anything to help my favorite student,” Amaryllis smiles, dipping into a dramatic bow.

“As far as I know, I’m your only student,” Beatrice laughs, glad that the action didn’t seem to hurt her throat.

“Just take the compliment, Beatrice,” They say, opening the door, “Goodbye.” 

“Goodbye,” She replies, but they’ve already shut the door behind them. 

Beatrice makes herself another cup of ginger tea and considers writing Amaryllis a thank you note, it’s the least she can do. She gets to work, pulling out her special personalized stationery and her favorite golden ink. It takes her nearly fifteen minutes just to write their name, she tries to get the curve of the A just right, the y looped perfectly around the other letters. The actual contents of the note is short. There are lots of things she’d like to say to Amaryllis, and maybe someday she’ll get up the courage to do so, but for today she just says “thank you”.

She’d thought that writing the note might help her clear her head a bit, but when she tries to go to sleep she can’t stop the thoughts of Amaryllis. She thinks about the way Amaryllis had called her ma chérie last week, and how much she wants them to call her that again. She wants to hear more of their words spoken and sung only for her. Before she can help herself, Beatrice thinks about their lips again, bright red and so close to her own. Would it have been a mistake for her to have leaned in? Would Amaryllis have pushed her away or kissed her back? 

She really needs to get over this infatuation. Even if Amaryllis had wanted to kiss her, it doesn’t mean they would want anything more. Just when she thinks Amaryllis is interested they take a step back, or they return to their calm and collected demeanor and the moment passes. Beatrice really doesn’t know what to make of their attention, their casual touches and lingering eye contact. She’s seen them flirt with others in the same way, it seems to be a facet of their personality to be familiar with people, and if that’s the case then what makes her any different? 

Beatrice isn’t used to being treated like this. She’s not used to being told that she’s talented and pretty and full of potential, and though she believes their words to be genuine, she wonders if their time spent together means as much to Amaryllis as it does to her. She hopes it does.

⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯

“So, what’s going on today that has you so cheerful?” Amaryllis asks as they begin to tidy up the rehearsal room now that the lesson had concluded. They're more than content to linger, packing their bag with little haste.

“I'm usually cheerful,” Beatrice fights a grin, acting coy.

“Especially so today. It certainly reflected in your performance. Now that I think about it, the past few days you’ve seemed so excited.” Amaryllis had been thinking about it, giddy each time they’d run into her and the dazzling smile she had on display.

Beatrice avoided their gaze, eyes mischievous, and Amaryllis expected her to deflect again. “It’s my birthday today!”

“Oh! Happy birthday,” they smile, full of adoration, “are you doing anything to celebrate?”

“I’m staying here for dinner tonight. A gangly birdie let it slip that Nadia may have planned something special for me.”

“I suppose that means I’ll get to see you at dinner.” Beatrice glances up, surprised, and Amaryllis attempts to suppress a laugh. “I usually dine here, I live here after all. Though, I often take meals in my room, but it seems that tonight is a special occasion.”

“Oh, you don’t have to come to dinner just for me, I’m sure you’re busy-“

“I’d like to. That is, if you don’t mind having me there.”

“Amie, of course not!”

For a moment, all is silent, both surprised that she called Amaryllis by a nickname. Beatrice looks like she’s about to rush to apologize, but their smile beats her to it.

“Then I’ll be there." Once the nickname sunk in, their face lit up— despite their attempt to stay neutral— and told her there was no issue. Beatrice nods, her demure smile doing nothing to hide how pleased she really is.

The two say their farewells for now, leaving in different directions. Beatrice, they assume, is off to get ready for a dinner in her honor, and Amaryllis is off to find a fitting last-minute gift.

After an hour, Amaryllis was approaching the dining room. A little late, but dressed for dinner and with a carefully-crafted bouquet in hand. They might have gone overboard with their gift, but Beatrice didn’t need to know. The arrangement they'd selected looked simple, but the meanings each flower held were far from it.

First, they'd started with violets, paired with sprigs of laurel. Individually, violets represented modesty, and laurel was for success. Together, they were for expressing that you were proud of the recipient. And Amaryllis was so proud of Beatrice. Their first real meeting all those months ago she was a ball of nerves, when it came to singing and being around them. But now, she had made leaps and bounds with her singing, and felt comfortable enough to call them ‘Amie’.

Then, the cowslip caught their eye. It was for gracefulness, and they'd decided it was fitting. Beatrice was graceful, even when she tripped over herself or her words, there was a certain charm to it. Even when nervous she always made her best attempt, and the way she lit up when she was successful. To Amaryllis, she was the portrait of grace.

Of course, it spiraled into dangerous territory from there. The buttercups came next, 'you are radiant with charm', they revealed. And when paired with the cowslip, they were often given as tokens of new and blooming affection. Amaryllis couldn't say their affection was new, but it was blooming into something far past a fleeting crush.

Finally, Amaryllis added purple pansies into the mix. They told themself it was simply to balance out the two bunches of yellow flowers, but that was a lie. Pansies confessed ‘you occupy my thoughts’, and gods, did she. So often they thought of her; when composing, when performing, during the day, at night, in bed. It almost felt wrong, how often their mind strayed to her and in the ways that it did.

The blooms had been wrapped together in cream-colored paper and tied with a violet ribbon. Amaryllis hoped the delicate yellows and purples would be to her liking. They also hoped that gifting this bouquet full of secrets would be symbolic. That they'd be handing off their feelings like they were handing off the flowers.

The dining room doors opened, and their worry-free façade fell back into place.

“She’s been taking lessons from a great teacher,” catches Amaryllis’s ear as they enter. To the side is what looks to be the gift table, and they place the bouquet down. It was Portia, with all her enthusiasm that they'd heard. She was at the center of the table, alongside Nadia of course, with Beatrice seated on her other side.

“Ah, well-“

“Gossiping about me?” Amaryllis stopped behind their seats, interrupting and startling Beatrice in the process. Instinctively, they place a hand on her shoulder to steady her, surprised to feel bare skin. When Amaryllis glances down at her, they regret it immediately.

She’s dressed to the nines, cloak nowhere to be seen. All they see is cream lace and tulle that drapes off her shoulders, and the satin corset hugging her frame. They’re at a wonderful angle to witness exactly how flattering it is on her.

Before they could be considered staring, they look away. But as flushed as she is, they doubt Beatrice missed the way their eyes dragged over her body. Her smile is bright, and Amaryllis is a little dizzy at the idea that reaction was for them. They certainly could dream.

“Wait, you’ve been instructing her?” Asra questions from Beatrice’s other side.

“Why are you so surprised?” Amaryllis shrugs, nonchalant, strolling away to their seat. They were well aware this news was about to be the largest scandal in Vesuvian history. Their lessons weren’t a secret, but Amaryllis hadn’t gone out of their way to mention it, and it seemed Beatrice hadn't either.

“I recall bringing up the idea of you taking on students last year. And I recall you declining, claiming you weren’t ‘teacher material’.” Nadia comments as they pass.

Lucio can’t help but join in, complaints ready as Amaryllis takes their seat between him and Julian. “I’ve begged you for lessons, and you always told me no!”

“That’s because you’re tone deaf.”

“Wait, I’m tone deaf, but we sing together all the time?” Julian adds.

“You aren’t tone deaf, you have trouble matching pitch on your own. There’s a difference.”

They aren't close to Beatrice at all, on the complete opposite side of the table, but they can see her trying to listen in.

“So Amaryllis, what prompted your change of heart about teaching?” Nadia asks them.

“There’s been no change of heart, I’m still not interested,” Amaryllis sips their wine.

“Then why is Beatrice taking lessons from you?” Julian butts in from between them.

“She stumbled upon a rehearsal of mine weeks ago, and mentioned lessons. I thought I would offer,” another sip, “I could tell she was special.”

“Is that so?”

Amaryllis makes sure Beatrice is still eavesdropping, her eyes wide and curious. “Beatrice is a very promising student. If it were up to me, I’d have her on the stage by now.”

Nadia turns to her, and the countess begins to ask her about it. Of course, Amaryllis's ability to hear what she has to say is cut off by Lucio and Julian’s bickering.

Dinner as a whole passes with no more awe directed at them for their, admittedly, out of character actions. They were thankful to no longer be in the spotlight for the night, it wasn’t for them after all.

After dessert— Beatrice’s favorite cake, of course— Nadia suggests they all move to the veranda. Amaryllis stands, but takes their time joining everyone else, finishing off their wine. Somehow, they hadn’t noticed Beatrice still in the room until her hand is on their arm. It’s just the two of them now, and her touch is a welcome surprise. Beatrice’s smile is radiant as she looks up at them through long lashes. In her other hand is the bouquet.

“How did you know violets were my favorite?”

“I didn’t, actually,” she glances between the flowers and Amaryllis. “I’m relieved to know that I chose well.” 

“You did. Thank you, Amie. They’re beautiful.”

“They pale in comparison to you,” it’s cliché, and easily passed off as Amaryllis’s typical flirting. Even if now they mean it more than anything. “You look lovely tonight.”

“Thank you,” she’s blushing, but her smile is proud.

“Did you know that violets mean ‘modesty’?”

“They do?” Her eyes light up, always eager to learn about anything. “Do the other flowers mean anything specific?”

“All of them do, and some of them mean something else when paired together. It’s why I picked them.” Beatrice’s brow raises, anticipating that Amaryllis will explain. “I think I’ll leave it for you to figure out on your own.”

“What!” Beatrice pouts, and her grip on their arm tightens. “But it’s my birthday.”

“And you love to learn, so it's the best gift of all.”

“That is a wonderful gift,” she laughs. “Then would you tell me what your favorite is?”

“I like Hemlock.”

“Isn’t that…”

“Highly poisonous? Yes, though it is safe when dried.” She stares for a moment, somewhere between confusion and amusement, then laughs again.

“How am I not surprised?”

“I also like roses. But don’t tell anyone, I wouldn’t want word to get out that I’m just a romantic, it’d ruin my reputation.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” her expression turns pensive, “are you really? A romantic, that is.”

Amaryllis shifts a little closer to Beatrice. The arm that isn’t graced by her touch reaches out, hand on her bare shoulder. They notice a heart-shaped birthmark that they hadn't had the opportunity to see until now. Fingers brush over it before ghosting down her arm, wondering what her reaction would be if it was their lips instead. As they trace her skin, Amaryllis feels her shiver, and it takes every ounce of restraint to not seek that out over and over. They take her hand then, pulling it to their lips to place a soft kiss to the back of it, leaving behind a red lip print.

“I certainly can be, when someone piques my interest enough,” their ruby gaze doesn’t leave her face. Beatrice stifles a gasp, and Amaryllis wonders what to do now, how they could just walk away from this—

And then, they’re interrupted.

“Birthday girl! You’re about to miss your own toast!” Portia leans in  to shout from the doorway. “and you have to lead the song, or else Ilya’s squawking is gonna give me a headache.”

Beatrice intertwines her fingers with Amaryllis's, and then leads them outside hand-in-hand. The walk from the dining room to the veranda is far too short.

“You want me to teach your kids?”

“Well, I’m not asking for you to come to teach full time or anything, but,”

“I’m not very good with children.”

“If you managed to teach me, you’ll have no problem with them!”

“Beatrice.”

“I’m joking! They’re really wonderfully behaved children, I promise. Besides, how bad can you really be if you’re friends with Lucio?”

“You’ve made a good point,” Amaryllis laughs. “What exactly would I teach them? I doubt they need professional-level vocal instruction.”

“You know music! You can sing and play the piano, and probably other instruments too-“

“Guitar. And violin, but only a little.”

“See! You could teach them all about notes, how to play nursery rhymes. It’s mostly about giving them something fun to do, like art class or recess.”

“So you do want me to come in on a regular basis?”

“Well, if you’re a good fit I wouldn’t mind it…”

“Alright then. I’ll come teach.”

“Really?” In her excitement, Beatrice throws her arms around Amaryllis’s neck in a crushing hug. “Oh thank you, Amie!” They return it after a moment, arms wrapping around her middle. When they part, there’s the loveliest pink flush to her cheeks, their faces only inches apart. Reluctantly, Amaryllis breaks away from her embrace.

“I am a little busy with the masquerade approaching, but I can make time.”

“Tomorrow?” Beatrice suggests quickly.

“Tomorrow, hm? You don’t already have lesson plans for the day?”

“Ah, well-“

“You knew I’d say yes.”

“I was right.”

- - -

And that was how Amaryllis ended at the old coliseum turned schoolhouse, with carefully crafted lesson plans in hand. They had even gone out of their way to dress in the most modest and brightest dress they had in their wardrobe, along with simple pumps and opaque tights.

Once Amaryllis was standing before the doors, dressed in spring green, the gravity of how fully head-over-heels they had fallen for Beatrice dawned on them. In their right, not lovesick mind, they would never willingly venture out in such a manner. They’d even completely forgone their veil for the afternoon— it was hardly necessary to do so, but Amaryllis was dead set on being a good example.

On the other side of the doors, it seemed Beatrice had been waiting for them. Seated on a nearby bench with her nose in a book, it was the same way she’d often wait for them before their lessons together. There was nothing out of the ordinary or new about the sight of her, but Amaryllis still found themself stopping to take her in. Leaning against the wall, they watched the way her lips moved as she read, how focused she was as her eyes flit across the pages.

Soon enough, the moment passes when Beatrice finally takes note of them.“Amie!” she jumps into her feet, and Amaryllis notices the way her expression drops into surprise for a split-second. Then, she proceeds to unabashedly look them up and down, grin returning to her lips when her eyes meet theirs. “You have perfect timing! The children should be just getting back from recess. Come, I’ll show you around.”

Without warning, Beatrice takes their hand, and Amaryllis has to stop themself from giving into the urge to intertwine their fingers with hers.

Beatrice leads them through the halls, enthusiastically pointing out various classrooms and other school facilities. She tells them all about what she’s already been able to do with the school and her goals for the future. Amaryllis drinks up every word, and the passion she has for her students makes them fall a little bit more in love with her.

They make a mental note to see to it that a little bit more of their salary is directed to the school— discreetly through Nadia, lumped in with what she already uses to fund Vesuvia’s public education.

“And this is my classroom!” Beatrice pulls them into a room with rows of little desks decorated in little messes of papers and books. Amaryllis looks around the modest room, in awe at all the carefully-crafted decor she had put up all over the walls. Posters and signs that must have taken her hours and hours to make.

There was the common alphabet drawn out all the way across the front wall above the chalkboard. Large and colorful drawings acting as helpful reminders of numbers, shapes, days of the week, and months of the year. Not all of it was purely educational; messages of inspiration were all over, encouragement just a glance away for any child who needed it. Even each desk had a carefully handwritten tag spelling out each child's first and last name.

Amaryllis realizes they must have looked around the room a little too long, because when they glance back to Beatrice, she’s fiddling with her the clasp of her cloak. The instinct to assure her overcomes them, and they reach out and place their hands over hers

“Beatrice, this is lovely. I can tell you truly love your work.”

She looks hesitant for a moment, as though she might brush the complement off, but smiles after a moment. “Thank you, Amie. I really do love it.”

Amaryllis quickly squeezes her hands before taking them back. “I hope I can meet your high standards.”

“If I had any doubts, I wouldn’t have asked you,” she opens her mouth like she has more to say, but then tiny voices and giggles sound from the hallway. Something in her composure shifts then, and in a second she goes from their Beatrice to the student’s Beatrice.

Greeting each child with a warm smile as they file into the room, not an ounce of hesitance or nervousness. Amaryllis can’t take their eyes off of her, wants to take in all of her radiance that comes with her moments of total confidence. That beautiful smile of hers is then turned on them, and class is ready to begin.

“Settle in everyone! This afternoon we have a very special guest!” Beatrice addresses the class animatedly. She steps back, gesturing for Amaryllis to step up. It almost feels like they’ve somehow switched places with each other; Beatrice has all of the certainty and Amaryllis is full of worry. But they would do this, and do it well, for her, and for these children.

“Hello, you can call me Amie,” they introduce themself with the nickname instead, as their name could be difficult to pronounce for ones so young. “Together, we’re going to learn all about music!” Amaryllis glances to Beatrice, who watches them with a soft expression, and in turn she gives an encouraging nod. “For today’s lesson, I’m going to show you how to write your very own song!”

- - -

The lesson had run wonderfully, much to Amaryllis’s surprise. The class was a modestly-sized one, and all in attendance were very eager to learn. They’d begun with the very basics of treble clef, explaining the lettering and telling them the silly acronyms to assist in remembering. As the children demonstrated they were catching on to their teachings, Amaryllis shed their hesitance.

In the end, they were able to assist each student in writing out their own little two-measure song. None of them really knew they were writing, but Amaryllis could hear each little song as they went over it with Beatrice’s students. Some of them put the same note down eight times, some of them followed the alphabet, some of them randomly placed notes on the staff. It was sweet, to see each child’s method of creating.

Amaryllis’s plan was for Beatrice to hold on to what they’d written, because next time they would teach them how to sing their songs. Each child was already so proud of what they’d accomplished, and Amaryllis was truly looking forward to showing them how it sounded.

Once their lesson was concluded, it was time to wrap up for the day. Amaryllis stood back once again to let Beatrice take back over, and meanwhile they made themself at home in her desk chair. When the students finally were dismissed, Amaryllis did not expect for several of them to flock around them.

One little girl told them how pretty their hair was; another told them that he thought their scar was so cool. A little boy explained very thoroughly that he’d been taking piano lessons since he was very little. It took a few more minutes of questioning and stories and several promises that they would return next week for everyone to clear out.

Beatrice saw the last little straggler out of the door and closed it behind her. “‘Bad with children’, hm?” She was beaming again, surely pleased to have something to call them on.

“I may have lied,” Amaryllis admits. Beatrice raises a brow in questioning, settling down onto her desk in front of them. “It’s just, I don’t tend to be the best influence.”

“Amie, that’s not true,” she reaches forward to take their hand, “you were just actively being a positive influence for the past two hours.”

“I tried my very best, abeille.” ‘I tried my very best for you’, goes unsaid.

“I think you did wonderful! Even I learned things I didn’t know before.”

“Then I must not be doing enough in our private lessons.”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“I know, I’m simply teasing you.” Amaryllis rests their clasped hands against Beatrice’s knee. She isn’t sitting as ‘lady-like’ as she typically tends to, her legs remain uncrossed and knees apart. Her long skirts cover her all the way down to the ankle, perfectly decent, though Amaryllis’s thoughts about their current positions are anything but. Slipping their hands under said skirts, the feel of her skin under their fingers as they push the fabric up and— now was not the time or place to fantasize about her.

“You know, I meant to say,” she glances away when Amaryllis’s eyes meet hers, cheeks rosy. “You look, different.”

“I know, it’s atrocious, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely not!” Beatrice bites her lip, before continuing. “I think you look just as lovely like this,” she rushes to add, “and it’s nice to see your face. Outside of the rehearsal room. In public. That probably sounds a little odd-“

Amaryllis’s breath falters. “It doesn’t.”

“Oh, good, then.” Beatrice’s free hand picks at the surface of the desk. “Then is there a reason you didn’t wear your veil today? I’ve noticed you don’t usually go anywhere outside the palace without it.”

“It’s part of my effort to not be a poor influence,” they explain. “Little ones are so impressionable, it wouldn’t do to cover up like I’m ashamed.”

“Are you?” she blurts out, looking instantly regretful. Amaryllis doesn’t talk about these things, they never do. But with Beatrice, they feel safe enough to forgo many of their masks.

“Rationally, I know there isn’t anything to be ashamed about. But it’s,” they take a deep breath, “difficult when someone once put in a lot of effort into making you think that way. You never know who else will treat you that same way. So, I prefer to have a shield.”

“You’ve never worn it when it was just us.”

“Because I know you’d never make me feel ashamed.”

“Amie, I—“ Beatrice is cut off by a knock on the door that makes them both jump. She releases their hand, sliding off of the desk to let the interloper in. Simply a concerned parent who’s come to speak with his child’s teacher. Amaryllis takes it as their cue to excuse themself.

“I’m quite busy with preparations, so I’m afraid I might not see you again until the masquerade.”

“It’s only a few days away, and I’ll be sure to practice extra hard in place of our missed lesson.”

“Not too hard. We don’t want a repeat of the last time you strained yourself.” Though truthfully, Amaryllis wouldn’t mind bringing her tea again, or taking care of her, settling on her comfy little couch to snuggle up.

Beatrice throws her hands up dramatically. “I won’t practice that much, I promise!”

“Good girl,” they take her hand, relishing in her flustered face, “until we meet again.” Amaryllis places a kiss on the back of her hand, leaving behind a deep red stain. With a respectful nod to the waiting father, they step back out into the hall.