#also I was going to imply that Toto would rather avoid having to get married too

[catsafarithewriter]

“You’re my first choice. Always. Okay?” for either Louise/Sephie or Lune/Yuki?

A/N: Louise & Sephie it is! (I’m eternally weak for those two.) This went down a human AU rabbit hole, with Louise and Baron being not siblings, but engaged. This turned out rather bitty, and has some sad moments, but it ends happily, I promise!

x

They had been betrothed for as long as Louise could remember. Longer, even; the records stated that her parents had barely waited until her first birthday before agreeing to the union with the von Gikkingens.

A fine family, everyone was quick to assure her any time she expressed her doubts. True, normally a baron wouldn’t even be considered a suitable match for the daughter of a duke - as titles went, baroncy was about as far down you could go without falling off the nobility ladder entirely - but his line was a long-standing favourite of the royal family. If it wasn’t her, it would be some other high-ranking young lady to snatch him up.

Or so everyone kept reminding her. 

And she tried.

She really did try to love him the way a fiancee should. 

And, fair enough, he wasn’t a bad match. She could have had worse. He wasn’t unkind or cruel; he respected the fact that they’d both been thrown into this commitment with little - or no - say so, and was actually funny and considerate and intelligent. 

But there was still no spark. 

Louise was a realist. She knew that marrying for love was impractical; that betrothees often learnt to care for one another; that she was lucky in that at least he was only a few years her senior... but still...

He was a good companion. A childhood friend. A brother to her. She could imagine spending her life alongside him, but as his wife? As the woman of the household, mother of his children?

Her future stretched out before her, known and secure and dull; a path paved before she even took her first steps. Where was the excitement? The mystery? The chemistry? Where was the romance?

“We could always adopt,” Humbert says during a quiet moment of yet another royal ball, this one celebrating an engagement, one similarly built out of politics and logic. She doesn’t mind balls - they’re one of the few chances they’re able to escape the usually ever-present chaperones and really talk. 

“Pardon?” Her mind is on other things, in particular the sad eyes of their future queen-to-be. 

“Adoption,” he repeats. “Once we’re married, there’ll be expectations of an heir. If we time it right, no one has to be any the wiser. We retire to a country house for a year, return with a child, hope it takes after one of us.”

“We’ll have to time it well,” she says, but her mind is still on other things; the words come out almost automatic. “Bribe the right people to keep them from tattling...”

“I have people at my estate we can trust.”

She is silent for a moment. She watches the royal fiancee turn down another invitation to dance. “Is this what you really want?” she asks softly. “To spend the rest of our lives living a lie?”

“If you have any other ideas, I’m listening.”

She chews her bottom lip. “We could always refuse.”

There is a whole heartbeat before they both give a bark of laughter. It passes as quickly as it comes, but the humour persists in the corner of their lips. 

“Have you ever considered eloping?” she asks.

He gives a most ungentlemanly snort. She wonders who he’s been spending time around to pick up such a habit. Certainly not either of their parents. “I think that would somewhat defeat the objective.”

“Not together. With someone else.”

He doesn’t answer immediately, but there’s something sad in his silence. “I confess I have never felt such a way about someone.” He gazes across the ballroom, as if in search of that long sought-after connection, and then to her. “Have you?”

“Never enough to elope,” she answers. She doesn’t speak of how it’s a choice. That every lingering look and stray spark is haunted by the knowledge of the inevitable hardships that would follow up if she allowed herself to feel any such way. 

She doesn’t say any of this, but she suspects she doesn’t need to. Sometimes having a best friend for a fiance is a double-edged sword. 

He catches the way her gaze slides once more to the lonely royal fiancee, and gives a low chuckle. “Do you want an introduction?”

“She looks so sad.”

“She looks like she needs a friend.” He holds out his arm in the very model of a doting fiance. “Shall we?”

She takes the arm and allows herself to be led to the King’s table. The King, as usual, beams at the von Gikkingen presence and shoots what he probably thinks as a charming grin Louise’s way. She ignores the way her skin crawls. 

“Baron,” he croons, as if there’s only one baron worth knowing, “How wonderful to see you join us. And your lady.” He winks. Louise smiles thinly. “How’s it going, babe?”

The improper endearment - if endearment is indeed the right word - has long lost its sting after the many times she’s heard the King lavish it upon the ladies of court. She still dislikes it. 

The King continues, as if he’d never asked a question, and gestures broadly to the woman by his side. “I don’t believe you’ve had the pleasure of meeting my bride-to-be, have you?”

Humbert bows. “A pleasure to meet you, Your Highness.”

She tips her head graciously back, loose black curls falling about her face and Louise has to remind herself to breath. “The pleasure’s all mine, Baron von Gikkingen. I’ve heard tales of your family’s involvement in this kingdom. I can only hope you are also made of such stock.” Her eyes brush past Louise. “And this must be your wife, I presume.”

“Fiancee,” they correct simultaneously. 

“Ah,” the foreign princess says. There’s something knowing in that look that leaves Louise glad the King isn’t half as perceptive.

“In fact,” Humbert proceeds - Louise is sure he saw the look also, but has always had a talent for seeming unruffled - “that’s exactly what we’re here for. Since myself and my fiancee shall be in the palace frequently after our wedding, it seems sensible for the two ladies to get acquainted.”

Louise shoots Humbert a look. He ignores it. 

The King claps his hands. “An excellent idea.”

Neither ladies move, and Humbert leans in to Louise. “Now is when you ask Her Highness for a dance.”

Louise reddens, embarrassed more that Humbert had to prompt her, of all people, and holds out a hand to the foreign princess. “Your Highness,” she manages, “would you care to dance?”

x

“I’m sorry about my fiance,” Louise apologises as she draws the Princess out onto the dance floor. “He tends to think he’s helping by meddling.”

“Men are exceptionally good at that,” the Princess replies, and Louise wonders if there’s anyone she’s specifically thinking of. “And I know your... fiance’s name,” and the way she refers to Humbert makes Louise worry their platonic status is obvious, “but I believe he omitted yours, Lady...”

Belatedly, Louise realises both men forwent naming their brides. “Louise,” she says. “Louise DuBois. Princess...?”

“Persephone. Soon to be Queen.” And there’s the curl of her lip - almost imperceptible - as she says it. A trophy queen, and they both know it. 

“How soon?”

“The end of summer,” the Princess answers, and her eyes drift to the winter trees outside. “Planning a royal wedding takes time. And you?”

It takes Louise a moment to register she’s being questioned about her own wedding to Humbert. For a moment, a simpler moment, she had forgotten. “Midsummer. The wedding has been on the table for twenty years; our parents are content to wait a few more seasons.” Even if it had taken some persuasion to give them that much grace. 

“Betrothed?”

“Since we were children.”

A new song starts, and the Princess moves into place, stepping opposite Louise. She may have led the life of royalty, but she’s taller than Louise, her shoulders broad and her arms strong, and Louise’s heart stutters as the Princess gently takes her hand. The Princess’s eyes catch on the table where both their fiances watch. “From the stories I’ve heard, he sounds to be a good man.” Her gaze turns to Louise, questioning.

“Indeed,” Louise says automatically. “Any lady would be lucky to have him? And the King? What have you heard of him?”

The Princess’s lips twist into a wry smile. “Any princess would be lucky to have him,” she echoes. 

x

She sees the Princess frequently in the coming months - enough so that any gentleman-caller would have raised questions, but Louise goes unnoticed - and before the winter is out, the Princess is Persephone and no longer Your Highness. 

They become fast friends, bound by the shared fate of a chosen husband they hold no romantic interest in. 

“He’s like a brother to me,” she tells Persephone once. “I love him... but not in that way. Not in the way I’m meant to.”

They sit at opposite ends of the library window seat, a unread book open in each of their laps and the tresses of their dresses overlapping. Louise’s mind skitters each time their toes brush. 

Persephone runs a thumb absent-mindedly along the pages of her book. In the otherwise silent room, Louise can hear the rustle it makes. “And he feels the same way about you?”

“Yes.” She hesitates, unsure of how much to shed. “I don’t think he often feels that way about people anyway. At least we both know where we stand. If it comes to it, we can manage.” There are worse fates than an unwanted engagement to one’s best friend.

The rustle of pages continue, faster. Louise isn’t sure Persephone even knows she’s doing it. “And yourself?” the Princess asks. She’s not meeting Louise’s gaze, staring out into the royal gardens instead, and Louise can’t read the emotion. “Do you feel that way about people?”

“Yes.”

“Men?”

“Both. Either. Any.”

Persephone’s eyes flicker to Louise then, and the trepidation in them is not from the confession, Louise knows, but from the realities it brings; the truth they’ve both been hiding from is suddenly real and present and possible. 

“You?” Louise asks.

Persephone is back to watching the gardens. Her next words are so quiet, Louise almost misses them. “Just the ladies.” 

x

“Run away with me?”

The royal gardens are quiet, still cold even as spring takes hold, and Louise’s laugh bounces off the decorative hedges with abandon. They’re alone, the evening air drawing in, and they sit comfortably beneath a canopied archway. An ironworked seat is settled beneath its boughs, and Louise savours the warmth of her companion. In the privacy of the garden she allows herself to murmure, “I would love to.”

There’s no relieved sigh or excited gasp from Persephone, only the long breath of resignation. “But?” she prompts.

“Humbert.”

“He wants the marriage no more than you.”

Louise doesn’t answer immediately. She carefully puts her thoughts into order. “If I don’t marry him, his family will force him to wed some other lady.” She thinks of the lonely way he watches the world. “Someone who doesn’t know him the way I do, who will expect... more than he can give.”

Persephone is silent. Then, quietly, “I know how he feels.”

The truth of that hits Louise like a cannonball, and her mind switches off before it can remind her of the future laid out for Persephone. 

She takes Persephone’s hand and she doesn’t let go. “We have until the end of summer. We’ll find a way,” she promises.

x

Louise stands before the mirror in her wedding gown and tries to hide the tears. Her mother mistakes them for tears of joy and congratulates her daughter, once again, on a match Louise had no say in. 

“The prestige we’ll get - the family will finally gain the respect it deserves with this union,” Lady Elizabeth fusses, checking once more over the lacing. “Finally the DuBoises will join the von Gikkingens at the King’s side. You’ve done fantastically, my dear.” She pecks her daughter on the cheek; an action that immediately makes Louise want to rub the skin clear of the sensation. “We’re all so proud of you.”

Louise wonders if Humbert is receiving the same empty platitudes she is - the declarations of conditional love and pride from parents - and if he’s able to accept them with the same polite manner he wields like armour. 

As her mother leaves, Louise does scrub at her cheek. The provisional love lingers like a smear on her skin. Crawling. 

With a choking sound like a wounded animal, she reaches for the buttons along the dress’s spine and attempts to undo them. Two come off in her hand before familiar hands gently take over. 

“Rejoice,” Sephie says softly. Plainly. “You’re to be married tomorrow. The best day of your life.”

The gown falls from her and Louise is left shaking in the simple dress layered beneath. She falls back, sobbing as she leans into Sephie’s embrace. 

“I thought I could do this,” she manages in a hoarse whisper. “Give us another month to find the solution before your wedding. But to hear them all talk...” 

Sephie makes soothing noises and slowly, with the comfort of her hold, the panic subsides. Louise’s breathing returns under control, and she makes the decision without thinking. “Let’s do it,” she says. “Let’s run away together.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

“You’re not going to wish there were another choice-”

Louise’s hand snaps around Sephie’s wrist. “You’re my first choice,” she promises fervently, all fear gone with the knowledge of that simple, unshakable truth. “Always. Okay?”

The shock at Louise’s abrupt grip fades within heartbeats, and Sephie leans in, their foreheads touch in an achingly intimate gesture. “And you’re mine,” she whispers back. “Forever.”

x

There are multiple details to plan with elopement and Louise has considered none of them. Instead she stands in the starlit stables with a bag in one hand and her lover’s hand in the other and feels like she holds the world. 

Almost. 

“We should have told Humbert,” she says as she shifts the horses from their boxes. “He deserves to know.”

Sephie pulls a couple of saddles down from the wall. “And leave him an accessory to our elopement? The less he knows, the safer he’ll be.”

“He agrees.” 

Both women jolt. Leaning against the stable door is a tall, thin figure. “Evening, ladies. Going for an nighttime ride, are we?”

He steps into the lamplight, and Louise recognises the royal physician, Toto; a friend, but one under the payroll of the King. 

Sephie steps forward, suddenly no longer a giddy elopee, but the queen she was due to become. “Doctor, what are you doing here?”

“Both your fiances wanted me to keep an eye on the two of you.” There’s an amused glint in his eyes as he addresses the Princess. “With all the time you’ve spent on the von Gikkingen estate, the King was beginning to worry you were going to elope with the baron.”

“And Humbert?” Louise prompts.

“Like I said,” Toto repeats, “he wants me to keep an eye on you.” He brings another horse forward. “With all the adventure you’re due to have, he thinks you might be needing the best physician loyalty can buy.” He smiles then. “He figured you might be thinking about pulling a stunt like this, and he apologises that he can’t see you off in person, but ignorance is the best form of deniability.”

“Anything else?”

“He did ask me to pass along a message. I think the general gist of it was: Don’t worry about me, come back soon, and about time you did this.” 

“The general gist?”

“He used longer words, but the meaning’s the same.” 

“What about my fiance?” Sephie asks. “Your King. What about his orders?”

“My orders were to prevent you from eloping with the baron.” Toto inclines his head. “Since you are, indeed, not eloping with the baron, his orders are fulfilled.” 

“He’ll want your head.”

“He’ll have to catch me first.” Toto meets their gazes, and if there’s any deceit in them, Louise cannot see it. 

“Humbert will simply be wedded off to another lady,” Louise says. “He knows that, right?”

“He thinks the shame of being abandoned the night before his wedding will detour too many proposals in the immediate future and, beyond that, he’s thinking that a curse might work.” At Louise’s expression, Toto laughs. “Nothing major, just a transformation curse or something so he can enjoy some peace and quiet. Of course, if we come across any such spells in our travels...”

“We’ll know to keep an eye out.” Louise feels Sephie stand beside her, and she leans against her love’s warmth. “He knows I’m sorry, right?” she says quietly. “For leaving him like this. I love him, but...”

Toto holds up a hand. “He knows. And he understands.”

Sephie gently takes Louise’s hand in hers and places a kiss on her cheek. “We should go,” she says. “Before someone less understanding finds us.”

Louise exhales, and something unfurls within her. It feels like hope. 

“Yes,” she whispers. “Let’s go.”