#sylvgrid

“They’ve returned.” She relaxed. It had been some time since she’d last spotted the swans in the park. Ingrid smiled before nodding. “I want to see them too.”

“See them or hunt them?” Sylvain teased, turning slightly so they could take a different path through the gardens. 

Ingrid wrinkled her nose. Despite how well-dressed he was or charming he behaved in front of others, it was impossible to forget that this was her childhood friend. This was the boy she used to race through the fields with, who she used to beat during sword practice, who tended to her scraped knees whenever she played too rough. The boy who turned into a man who still couldn’t stop teasing her.

And now, with both of them of age, they were currently strolling arm-in-arm as she pretended to court him.

As a child, she never could have seen this coming. 

“Sylvain,” she growled, discreetly pinching his arm. 

He winced. “Did your nails get sharper?”

“No, just my grip.” Ingrid rolled her eyes. It seemed the saying was wrong: the dress didn’t make the man. Despite his buttoned up shirt and properly knotted tie, Sylvain was as immature as he had ever been. 

Taking a deep breath, she subtly scanned their surroundings. Fortunately, their area was clear; most were probably preparing for the next ball of the season. A peek over her shoulder confirmed that Leonie, her guard and chaperone, was also just far enough to observe but not hear. It was the perfect time to ask the question that had been lingering on her tongue 

“Why are we still doing this?” Ingrid asked,trying to school her expression into something more neutral. 

Sylvain raised a brow. “You love walking in the park.”

“Sylvain.’ Ingrid resisted the urge to shove him into the lake they were slowly circling. “Be serious for once.”

“You wound me.” With his free hand, he clutched his heart. “I’m always serious with you.”

Ingrid shot him a withering look.

“What?” Sylvain pouted. After a few minutes, he caved and rubbed his neck. “Fine. What did you want to discuss?”

Doubtful, she asked again, “How long do you intend to carry this out? This…,” she lowered her voice, “fake courtship.”

He gasped melodramatically. “Are you saying this isn’t real to you? That’s twice now you’ve attacked me.”

“And I’ll attack you again if you keep this up.” Ingrid raised her fist to punch his shoulder before thinking better of it. Instead, she discreetly crushed his foot with her heel. “The matter has been drawn out for nearly a month now. We’ve danced, taken walks, visited various shops—surely that is enough to keep the suitors at bay without us needing daily meetings.”

“I don’t agree.” Sylvain covered her hand, curled up around his arm as it was, with his own. His voice took on a husky tone, sending a shiver up her spine. “You’re far too handsome. The second I disappear, I know someone will swoop in.”

“Is that why you filled up my entire dance card?” Ingrid asked, unable to keep herself from scowling. “We could have just avoided dancing entirely instead.”

“What a waste that would be.” Sylvain smirked. “I like dancing with you. Didn’t you?”

“It wasn’t bad…” Ingrid bit her cheek. To be honest, her waist still burned from where he had touched her, his grip imprinted on her skin. And from the way his eyes darkened right now, it was almost as though he knew exactly what she was thinking of, what she was feeling, what she was remembering.

It was all too easy to think of him as her childhood friend except for when it wasn’t, except for the times he showed just how much he’d grown and changed the past few years. He had always been sly, but now that he was using that with her instead of escaping his duties…Ingrid didn’t know what to think. 

All she knew was how to dodge and pivot. “Surely by now they’ve found other girls to chase. The season is half-over as it is.” It was easier to talk when her eyes didn’t meet his, so she stared at the swans they were approaching. “My father will have a hard time marrying me off and your problem must be solved by now.”

Sylvain’s lips quirked. “What makes you say that?”

“With your reputation, it seemed impossible.” Ingrid snorted, remembering just how much of the rumour mill his escapades had occupied until now. “However, you have been consistent and proper with me for a month, there’s no new scandals, and people have been speculating that you’ve changed…your image has cleaned up.” When his chin lifted smugly, she added, “A little.”

The problem with Sylvain’s ego was that it needed constant humbling.

“That’s actually hurtful to hear,” Sylvain grumbled. “Just a little?”

“The truth often is,” Ingrid replied tartly. “We can’t work miracles.’

He pouted as he leaned against her. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

His weight was heavy but familiar and she shook her head with a laugh. “I doubt I ever can, we’ve known each other too long.”

“Not long enough yet.” When she frowned, Sylvain grinned. “I think forever has a nice ring to it.”

“It has the same ring as a threat.” Ingrid rolled her eyes before returning to her original topic. “Regardless, I’ll know you even if I’m not courting you.”

“One-track mind as usual,” Sylvain commented affectionately. He tapped his chin for a moment, pondering something, before nodding. “I see your point. We have been courting for a while.”

There was a long silence and Ingrid poked his arm. “And?”

By now, they had almost reached the swans. Near the bank, a weeping willow stood, its ancient branches looking like rain as they swept the earth. Distracted as they walked under it, she almost didn’t hear Sylvain add, “And as much as I would like to go to the next step, I’m not sure you’re ready for it.”

Her hand slipped out of his arm as she stood stockstill. Startled, she repeated, “Next step?”

Sylvain only gave her a smile in response. 

Her mind whirled, trying to piece together just what that could mean. He couldn’t possibly intend to carry this through to marriage, could he? Even Sylvain wouldn’t go that far for an act. Then, did he mean just continuing the courtship? Or did he want a public rejection?

Ingrid licked her lips, picking the safest of the options. “You intend to keep this up the entire season?”

“Well, while I wouldn’t mind that, that’s not what I meant.” Sylvain stood in front of her now and it was impossible to tear her eyes away from his. Leonie was nearby but hidden in the willow as they were, it felt like they were the only two people there. “Do you remember the reason I proposed this courtship?”

She remembered him in her waiting room a month ago, his expression antsy as he suggested their fake relationship. Remembered the way he had relaxed when she’d finally agreed. Remembered the way he had almost taken her hand immediately then. “To…become a serious candidate as a suitor?”

“For who?”

He hadn’t mentioned anyone that day, or any day after. Actually, if she thought about it, Ingrid couldn’t recall him ever mentioning anyone who had caught his eye for months now. There had to be someone—this couldn’t just be because he was the heir, because he was expected to marry. In all the years she’d known him, he’d never changed his behaviour to match his father’s wants. “For…”

Sylvian lifted her hand, planting a chaste kiss on the back as he peered up. “For?”

Flustered, she tried to yank her hand free but his grip was too tight. “Sylvain?”

“We both know just how bad my reputation is. It is all well-earned.” Sylvain tightened his grip on her hand, his other reaching forward to tilt her chin, forcing her to keep her focus on his face. “Even if I regret it. Even without it, though, you have never seen me as anything other than a troublesome childhood friend.”

Her lips moved but no sound came out.

His expression softened. “For you to take me seriously…I had to at least do this much for you to see me as someone new. Someone who you can’t look away from..” Sylvain leaned closer, his lips on the shell of her ear as he whispered, “Do  you think it’s working?”

Ingrid’s hands slapped her ears, covering them, and Sylvain laughed as he danced away and out of reach of retaliation. 

“That’s my cue to leave.” Sylvain looked far too satisfied, a cat that caught the canary, and he tipped his hat. “Until next time.”

Before she could growl at him, before she could grab him by the collar and force him to explain just when had this started, how it had started, what had started, Sylvain left. Not that it mattered, Ingrid still couldn’t move from where she stood, her ear burning. Had he really meant all of that? 

Did she want him too?