#ffsand-roy

“You know what they say about people who are lucky at cards, don’t you?” Roy smirks as he sets up the table, revealing one of his cards - a ten. With your eight and two, it’s almost a sure win. “They’re not so lucky in love.”

“Then you must be a real heartbreaker yourself.” Seeing how he tanked yet another match. “Or is it the ‘one true love’ that’s the ideal in this equation?”

Roy curses under his breath, and you think he either didn’t hear you or is simply ignoring you until he finally replies, “Isn’t it always? Or did you not come here hoping to find a love match in Duke?”

“It wasn’t really my choice,” you shrug. “And I wasn’t hoping for anything.”

“And now?”

Roy pauses his shuffling to peek at you from under lowered lashes. He seems intent on knowing the answer, but just as you’re about to say it, he waves you off, almost pushing cards into your hands.

“I suppose if you were truly lucky, you wouldn’t be here right now.” The continuous streak of losses stripped him of manners, but also bared his more honest side to you, exposing the childish and less poised flank. “What? You can’t tell me you’re enjoying yourself here.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” you chuckle, watching him take another card from the stack. For someone so proficient at chess, in the heat of the moment, he can’t control his expression to save his life. Or maybe it’s just the wine? “I’m feeling rather lucky in that regard as well.”

He looks up at that, his face a picture of disgruntled shock. “You can’t be serious. Who in their right mind would opt to be stranded in the middle of freezing nowhere.”

“I like snow. And the company isn’t half bad, either.”

Roy’s eyes are glued to his cards, but his lips curl up in obvious pleasure. He catches himself on that fast, though, donning a lofty grimace. “Naturally. The company and the wine, at least we have that, don’t we? We should enjoy it for as long as we can.”

There’s something melancholic in the way he says it, but you don’t wish to pry. Instead, you decide to cheer him up with an offer you know he won’t be able to resist. “Do you want to bet?”

“Pardon?”

“A bet, for our final round.” As much as you’re enjoying yourself tonight, the clock is ticking, and nightfall waits for no one. “The winner gets to make a wish.”

“Oh? What kind of wish?”

“How about... a punishment? Anything’s fair game, but no takesies backsies.”

Roy half-scoffs, half snickers, at your words. “Aren’t you afraid of what I might ask of you?”

“That’s assuming you’d win.”

Roy clicks his tongue. “What if I said I’m more... motivated now?”

“And your motivation changes the outcome of the bet?”

“Why? Is that fear I hear in your voice? It’s not too late to back off if you’re so afraid of losing to me.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“No? Then let’s leave it up to fate, shall we? I hear it favors the bold.”

“Bold, not overconfident.” 

“You’re stalling,” he taunts, tapping the deck of cards in a display of excited impatience. “Come, now, pick your cards. I’m curious to know if you’d [win] or [lose].”

[You won:]

Half expecting your luck to be overturned, you find it hard to suppress a grin when your two first cards turn out to be an instant win. It must be obvious because Roy preemptively blurts out a curse.

“Blackjack,” you announce gleefully, setting your cards face up on Roy’s to prove your victory. “So, is your curiosity sated?”

“That’s it. I’m summoning a paladin,” Roy mutters under his breath as he flicks the cards off the table. What a sore loser. “Ahem. Well. It’s rather late. I don’t suppose we—”

“Ah, ah, not so fast.” Not letting him escape, you latch onto his arm as he tries to stand up. “Your punishment first.”

“Being so vindictive is not attractive, my Lady,” he tuts, making only a token attempt at shrugging you off. “Besides, we could argue that I’ve already received my punishment when—”

“What happened to your bravado, Roy? You seemed so sure of yourself.”

Roy’s eyes flicker to the remaining cards that didn’t end up scattered on the floor. He quickly sends them flying, too, as one would when getting rid of evidence. “... It seems I’m simply more proficient at tactic-based games.”

“Mhm. Don’t worry, I won’t ask for anything terrible. Merely something... amusing.”

You sincerely doubt that Roy would have mercy on you, so you’re not planning to extend the courtesy, either. Still, you don’t want to humiliate him, only ruffle his feathers a little.

As you scan the room for inspiration, your gaze stops at Roy’s frilly jacket hanging from the back of his promptly vacated chair. The white collar reminds you starkly of the new uniform Cassandra showed you earlier, and thus, a marvelous idea dawns on you.

You’re a bit too eager when you share it, and so your words are rushed and garbled together, prompting Roy to raise a brow at you to accentuate his “Excuse me?”

“I said you’d be a terrible maid, but I’m sure you could make the uniform work, if nothing else.”

Roy’s lips part, but no sound escapes them. He blinks at you, as if unsure whether he should take the insult or refute it, but then the meaning of the entire sentence sinks in, and he’s left to gape at you soundlessly.

“My Lady,” he says after a while, clearing his throat two times before that. “Are you implying that you want me to...”

“Yes.”

“...wear the uniform. I see. Your tastes are truly unique.”

“You’re taking it better than I expected.”

“Are you disappointed?” Roy grins, immediately regaining his composure. “I live to defy expectations. Yours especially.”

“What an honor,” you huff, shy of rolling your eyes. “Well, then. Let’s fetch you a spare. And you’re coming with me.” 

Not allowing him to have even half a thought about getting away, you fix your hold on him, grabbing him securely by the wrist. At least, that’s what you attempt, but your hand finds his instead, warm to the touch and ungloved.

It startles you as much as it does Roy. He looks at it askance, with a peculiar expression, then slowly wraps his fingers around yours.

“How very forward of you,” he breathes out in a hushed, intimate whisper, as if sharing something forbidden. “Wise, too. You better hold me tight, lest I make my escape.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“You don’t know just how much I would dare... But you’re right. I won’t flee. At least for now.”

His face is barely an inch from yours, and the newfound awareness of his proximity makes goosebumps break all over your skin.

“Right. Let’s go.”

You turn away first, wordlessly pulling Roy with you into the hallway, belatedly remembering to release his hand. Thankfully, you don’t encounter anyone on your way, but that doesn’t cause the strange feeling that overcame you to dissipate.

True to his word, Roy doesn’t attempt to evade his punishment, trailing after you to the staff room. It’s locked, but you know he carries the skeleton key, and you don’t let him bluff you into believing that he has forgotten to pocket it.

“After you,” he says, gallantly holding the door open. His smirk alleviates all charm that the gesture might have held, and so, you push him into the room before you, with a smile of your own.

“No, after you.”

“Oof!” Roy makes a scene of barely maintaining his balance with the help of a shelf, massaging his ‘injured’ arm with the other. “Not an ounce of gentleness in you, is there?”

“If you wanted me to be gentle, you should have asked beforehand.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Roy huffs, returning to searching for the uniforms when you urge him to quit dilly-dallying.

The manor has more spare clothes than it does staff, and so there are plenty available in all sizes. Roy picks a set for himself from a wooden chest, pausing to look up at you with more of a challenge in his eyes than a plea.

“Dress and all?”

“Dress and all.”

“Fine.” With a defeated sigh, he straightens, reaching for the buttons of his shirt, starting from the bottom. “Do you mind? I don’t think this was a part of the punishment.”

Chastised, you turn to face the door, giving him some privacy while he changes. 

The momentary silence fills with on-and-off grunts and the swish-swash of fabric. It seems it takes longer for Roy to strip than to dress up, though given his elaborate attire, that doesn’t surprise you. 

When he’s done, he coughs pointedly to catch your attention. “Well?” 

The dress is slightly too short, barely covering his ankles, but he fills the upper parts of the uniform nicely. His posture is too relaxed to be taken as subservient, but his natural poise makes up for that.

“Not bad. Say, do you think Duke would let me appoint you as my personal maid?”

“Please, he’d let you appoint him as your personal maid if you only asked,” Roy scoffs, suddenly displeased. “He’d probably enjoy it, too.”

“You’re joking,” you laugh, quieting down when you notice that he doesn’t join you. His face is still twisted in that mocking grimace of his, though, so you assume he’s not entirely serious either. “What about you? You always complain that the work of an advisor is a thankless one.”

Roy barks out a laugh, his usual mirth recovered. “Why? Would you like that?”

“Like what?”

“Me, tending to you?” As he speaks, his eyes slowly slide up and down your body in a soft, intangible caress. “Dress you up in the morning, disrobe you, help you bathe.”

“Cassandra doesn’t bathe me.”  

“I’m not Cassandra, am I?”

“I—”

The door behind you rattles, startling you nearly to death.

“It’s occupied!” you yell, grasping at the knob, and from the look of it, scaring the poor maid shitless.

Roy, too, blanches, pulling the dress off himself with no regard for propriety. His stupefaction doesn’t last long, and in no time, he’s snickering again, highly amused. It’s only fortunate that the maid ran off before she could hear it.

“What’s so funny?”

“I’m just wondering what sorts of rumors would be spread if you were caught in the staff room. With me. Naked.”

“Nothing flattering,” you mumble, watching the intricate knob with great interest. “I should leave first. Wait for a bit before you follow.”

“My, you make it sound naughty. It’s not like we’re having an affair.”

His comment is more barbed than jesting, but you pay it no mind, leaving it unanswered.

Still, his words are all you can think of, and you can’t seem to escape them - or Roy - even as you exit the room, quickening your pace.

[You lost:]

Though you’re usually mild-mannered, your competitiveness increases when stakes are high.

“Twenty!” you shout, smacking your cards down with vigor. “Hah! Try and top that!” The fire in you is promptly snuffed out when you see the total in Roy’s hand reaching twenty-one.

Blackjack.

“Well, well, well. Would you look at that?” Roy smirk is ever-present, stretching further when he notices you grind your teeth. “My victory.”

“After so many losses?” you comment, crossing your arms with a huff. “What kind of luck is that, the moment I wager something?”

“Don’t pout. No one likes a sore loser.” And yet, here he is, fanning his two winning cards over his face, gloating.

You slap a hand down on the table. “I want a rematch—”

“Not so fast.” Roy frowns, showing his victory in your face. “You owe me a wish, remember? I want to collect it now.”

“What? You’ve already thought of something?”

“Several ‘something,’ in fact, I’ve come already prepared. You could say I was hoping for an opportunity to... discipline you,” Roy sighs, rolling his eyes at you. “Now, let’s see what punishment would be most befitting... Cleaning Duke’s office! No, you already insist on doing that. Hm, attending a mass with Kal everyday for a— No, no, you might even enjoy it. It has to be something you’d definitely abhor— Ah, yes. You’ll dance with me, that’s your punishment.”

“What?” you ask, and whatever bizarre expression you’re showing, makes Roy chuckle with delight.

“I said you’ll dance with me—”

“I just thought the punishment was supposed to be directed at me, not you.” Honestly, with how vengeful Roy is on a good day, dancing is the last thing you’d expect from him.

You’re not the only one whose expectations are proven wrong, however.

At your easy acceptance, Roy’s face morphs into a mix of surprise and an unknown emotion. His mouth parts, but he quickly shuts, preventing himself from saying whatever’s on his mind. His usual smirk returns by the time he finally speaks, though.

“Then let’s not dilly-dally any further, shall we?”

“Of all people, I’d think that you’d like to savor the moment.”

“Oh, I wholly intend to.”

He takes a step forward before stopping, remembering his manners. “How rude of me,” he offers you an arm, playfully chastising himself. “May I have the pleasure of escorting you to the ballroom?”

“Escort me or ensure that I won’t run away?” you joke, accepting his offer. It’s not often that you get to walk side by side, as he tends to rush ahead. This time, though, he makes sure to match your pace. “How nice.”

“What is?”

“Ah. You are, I suppose.”

Roy mumbles something, but it’s too quiet for you to hear. He doesn’t notice your questioning gaze, focused solely on walking forward.

As soon as you enter the ballroom, you notice a violinist. They don’t seem surprised by your arrival, settling into playing position, awaiting a starting signal.

Hm, that’s odd.

“Did you set this up knowing you’d win? Roy?” Eventually.

Faux-hurt by the accusation, Roy clutches his chest with an exaggerated gasp. “What are you insinuating? That I cheated at cards?”

Ah, there he goes again, talking in circles to catch you - and everyone else - in whatever conversational trap he’s laid out. Not today! You’ve been hanging around the advisor too long to fall for that. It’s just like him to arrange the whole debacle just so he doesn’t have to outright ask you for a dance.

“I’m not accusing you of anything. I just think the shy side of you is rather sweet. I mean, you must have looked forward to dancing with me so much that you’d prepare all of this in advance.”

This time, it’s your genuine tone that catches him off guard, causing him to momentarily freeze mid-step. A beat of silence passes as he struggles to shoo away/contain the wave of peculiar emotions that seem to overflow him once again.

“But of course. Who wouldn’t want to plan ahead when you could have the opportunity to dance with the future... Duchess?” Before you can analyze his momentary hesitation at the title, he bows, offering you his hand. “May I take this opportunity to ask you to dance with me, my Lady?”

You quirk an eyebrow at his gallantry. “I thought you said this was punishment?”

“And you clearly established that it wasn’t, so what harm would it do for me to go through the formalities?”

“You have a point. Then... Yes, you may.”

When you lay your bare hand in his, a surge of heady warmth spreads through you. It amplifies when he curls his fingers around yours, securing his grip on you.

He steps forward, ready to lead you into the dance

“Uh, Roy?”

“Hm?”

“What about the music?” You emphasize your question by pointing your gaze toward the musician. That’s why you brought them here, right?

“Oh.” Roy blinks, only now noticing the silence. And the company. “Right.”

A haphazard wave of his unoccupied hand is enough of a command. Soon, a slow melody fills the air.

With an encouraging tug, Roy eases you into the first steps, and in no time, you both fall into the rhythm.

“I wish dancing was a more common activity here. I miss the advantages it brings.” He sighs wistfully, mid-spin.

You’re almost certain that he’d be tempted to dip you regardless of the formal type of the dance. For now, he simply leads you through the familiar steps.

“Advantages?” you ask when you see that he’s actually waiting for your input, instead of just starting his monologues automatically.

“Of course. There’s nothing better than that when you want to share secrets inconspicuously.” Roy supplies with a conspiratorial smirk. His voice drops to a whisper, prompting you to get closer to hear. “Would you like to know mine?” “Which one? I'm sure you have many.” You wince at your no-thoughts-head-empty reply. You didn’t mean to call him out, but to be fair, Roy hasn’t made himself to be an entirely truthful person either.

He doesn’t seem offended, letting out a shallow half scoff, half chuckle that might as well be just a sign of overexertion. “This one,” Roy says.

As the tune reaches a crescendo, Roy tightens his grip on your waist, then lowers you into a sharp dip.

“Roy?!”

“Dancing, like many other things, has been nothing but a show to me,” Roy continues conversationally, unaware of the mini heart attack he just caused you. He pulls you back up when the song eases into a gentle flow, holding you even closer to his chest than before. “Until I met you.”

His candor distracts you enough to lose your footing. Roy uses your misstep to his advantage, lifting you into a spin, then ending the descent with another incline.

The song ends at some point, and the only noise in the air now is your mingled breath. You’re barely aware of it— Of anything, really, beside Roy and the galloping beat of his heart reverberating through your chest.

Slowly, he eases you even lower, bringing his face closer, and closer, until a loose strand of his hair brushes against your nose, forcing contained giggles to burst out of you uninvited.

“The, uh, blood— The blood is getting to my head,” you excuse your outburst, squeezing at Roy’s arms to let him know it’s time to waive the uneven fight against gravity. He doesn’t take the hint. “Roy? Do you mind pulling me back up?”

That does it. Roy blinks owlishly, as though waking from deep sleep. Then, he all but yanks you upwards, stepping away from you as if burned.

“Well, I— I’m honored to have shared this dance with you, my Lady.” The color of his cheeks surpasses the usual wine-induced flush, matching the redness of his hair. “But I must return to— I have missives in the office. That I need to sign.”

Belatedly, Roy remembers to bow, already backing away before you manage to curtsy back.

“Ah, right,” you mumble at his retreating back. Roy’s newfound awkwardness seems to be contagious. “I’m sorry for taking up your time.”

“Don’t be,” Roy says, stopping by the door, though not daring to face you. “If anything, you could stand to demand more of it. More of me.”