𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐎𝐧𝐞: 𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐠𝐞𝐝 + 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐭
Lady Adeline Bellfort is throwing a ball at the heavenly Willowlake Manor. She assigns her chief guard, Corvinus, to make sure none of the guests indulge too much… but these parties are renowned for their debauchery. content warnings: intox, stuffing, magical influence / slight hypnosis ; 3.8k words
Corvinus had hoped to avoid the ball altogether. His plan was to slip away as the guests filed into the grand foyer; by taking up sentry in some secluded corner, a shadowed alcove or isolated hallway, he could be on-hand without being present. It’s not as if he hates revelry… he just doesn’t enjoy it. Not the way most of the Lady’s guests do.
“You must come to the ball,” Emilia beseeches, hanging off his shoulder. “Everyone will be there! There‘ll be sorcerers, and dream-weavers, and people from different worlds—“ The stolid knight doesn’t blink an eye at this bombastic guest list; he’s seen it all before. Like a true strategist, Emilia changes tack. “And folk from the village! Mayor Abernell. You like him, right? His wife and children, the town librarian—“
“These parties are not the place for children,” Corvinus interjects. ”Or librarians.”
“I’m going,” Emilia retorts coyly, azure eyes fluttering.
The knight crooks an eyebrow. “Since when did you become a librarian?”
It’s low-hanging fruit, but Emilia’s (childish) eye-roll makes the joke worthwhile. She needs someone to tease her. At only sixteen, the girl is the youngest of Lady Adeline’s ladies in waiting. Emilia’s practically grown up on the estate — a true child of Willowlake. Since her youth, when she was first taken under the Lady’s wing, Corvinus has been there. He still remembers her lank hair and bone-thin frame, the way the rags from the orphanage barely clung to her. Now, Emilia is a different person. She’s blossomed into a bright young thing, plump and rosy, blonde curls flying wild around her face. She spends hours in the garden… or further out, in the rolling farmland that surrounds the estate, picking wildflowers and watching sunsets. Emilia wants to be grown-up, on the same level as the other ladies… but she’s still too girlish. Too eager. Still the girl who clung to Corvinus wherever he went, sheltering in his protective shadow for years.
And he will protect Emilia — always. Half his job nowadays is keeping her out of trouble.
Which means he has to go to the ball.
“You’re not allowed to drink,” he says bluntly, cutting across a cobblestone path. Willowlake is renowned for its sprawling gardens. The estate has stood for centuries, so the flora has had many years to grow wild. Built in the style of old French chateaus, Willowlake is elegant, polished… vast. The stately old foyer, winding staircases, gilded dining halls and airy, velvet-lush sitting rooms… it’s easy to lose yourself there. One could wander from room-to-room for ages, always finding something new. (Part of Corvinus’s job at these balls is rounding up wayward guests. Once, they lost the Countess of Rudden for two weeks in the portrait hall.)
The estate’s crowning glory, of course, is its garden. Leading away from the chateau, it begins in careful order — graveled paths and neatly kept hedgerows — but the further one strays, the wilder it becomes. Roses climb unchecked across broken statuary… laurels twist into living corridors, fountains burble beneath canopies of vine and moss. Cobblestone paths meander past luscious flower beds and statues of the gods, leading down into the heart of the estate: a large inland lake, surrounded by weeping willows. The surface is a glossy mirror of the sky above, its interior fathomless as a bone-glass. They say if you sink below the surface, you’ll emerge in another world.
Heaven, perhaps? Corvinus wouldn’t know. He’s not a swimmer. It’s said, though, that Willowlake is the closest one can get to Heaven-on-earth. Those who visit never want to leave.
“I mean it,” Corvinus declares, trudging through a bed of begonias. If he follows the path, they might wander the garden for hours — and he’s got shit to do. “No drinking. You stay away from the piano, the balconies, the swimming pools…”
Emilie pouts. “No fun.”
“The kitchens, the hall of mirrors, do not go near the petting zoo—“
“I’m not allowed to do anything?”
“Eat. Drink. Be merry,” Corvinus says flatly. An ounce too merry, though, and he’s picking her up by the scruff of the neck like a kitten.
Emilia pouts. “I drank at Jackie’s birthday.”
“You had a cup of wine,” Corvinus retorts, “and I had to carry you to your room. Do you recall any of this?”
She has to think… for a loooong moment.
“I thought so,” Corvinus huffs.
The trouble is, he has no choice. The party is bound to be grand, and grand parties are always wild. It’s his duty to stay sober and keep an eye on the guests.
On the morning of the party, the Lady summons him at an unholy hour. Corvinus, an early riser, isn’t daunted. Around six in the morning, makes his way to her private parlor. Lady Adeline is waiting for him; from the looks of things, she hasn’t slept all night.
The parlor itself is lavish, in a comfortable, lived-in way. Blue damask curtains frame the room; soft shades of blue and gold accentuate the carpet, the walls, even the pillows on the sofa. There’s a table in the center of the room, set for a late-night tea… The three-tiered tray, made of solid gold, ought to be layered with pastries. Instead, it’s conspicuously empty.
Corvinus doesn’t have to go searching. At the other end of the couch, a heavy frame lolls like a beached whale. It’s Luke, one of the gardeners — Corvinus recognizes the boyish face and dirt-stained overalls, his usual work clothes. Except Luke’s suspenders no longer fit him; his trousers look desperately strained. He gives a low groan, resting a hand over his stomach. He squirms for relief — as much as he can, with a heavy meal weighing him down — but there’s none forthcoming. All he can do is nurse the swell, heaving soft, shallow breaths. Luke’s eyes are hazy. His cheeks are flushed.
Corvinus tactfully ignores the debauched gardener, because it’s none of his business. He drops to his knee in a deft bow. “My Lady.”
Draped across the couch, lounging with an arm outstretched like a sun-bathing cat… Lady Adeline smiles.
She smells like roses today. Each morning, she chooses a new scent from her expansive collection of perfumes. Corvinus is suspicions about her scents; the lavender seems to make people sleepy, the hibiscus gets them hot under the collar. He always keeps a mindful distance. Getting too close to Lady Adeline… is dangerous. Her presence goes straight to your head. The rest of the world fades, old cares seem insignificant… suddenly, your entire world consists of violet eyes, gentle hands, the gleam of sunlight against silvery blonde hair. The Lady is all-consuming. Yet, whenever he tries to describe her — whenever Corvinus looks at her directly — she grows indistinct. Her edges blur; her details turn hazy; inevitably, the close scrutinizer ends up with a headache. It’s not worth the effort.
Whatever she is, she’s not human. Corvinus knows that for a fact. Perhaps she was, once… or else she’s very good at pretending.
“Corvinus!” Her voice is like silk, soft and light even as it wraps around you. The Lady extends an arm. Inwardly, Corvinus winces.
There’s no avoiding it, though, so he steps closer, allowing himself to be drawn in. Lady Adeline grasps his hand. The show of affection would be unusual, from a noblewoman to the captain of her guard, but Lady Adeline is an unusual woman.
“You are all prepared tonight, I trust?”
“Yes, my Lady,” Corvinus replies. Already, he’s feeling a bit hazy; his feet must be touching the ground, but he can’t feel them. “We’ve taken the precaution of locking up the galleries and staff areas. Two guards are stationed at each door to the dining room; a guard in every hall on the lower floors, and one posted in front of the staircase.”
They don’t want a repeat of the Duke of Spiers incident. The fool rolled down the stairs like a rotund bowling ball; he was so drunk, he didn’t even feel it ‘til the next morning.
“Excellent.” Lady Adeline’s shoulders relax. After a moment, she looks up at him again, a coy smile on her lips. “And you? You do not need to patrol the whole night, my dear. If you wish to indulge…”
It sounds so tempting, coming from her. As the lady’s words wrap around him, Corvinus can just imagine it. Sipping from a goblet of wine… tasting the richness on his lips as warmth suffuses through him. It would be so easy for one cup to turn into two… then three, then four, and suddenly Corvinus can’t stay on his feet. He could sink into the chair beside Lady Adeline… she would stroke his hair… run her fingers along the ridges of his armor… coax the heavy garments off. “You can’t enjoy your evening with these silly things constraining you…”
And the food. Oh, the spread would be marvelous. Dinners at Willowlake are borderline obscene, both in their flavor and quantity. No expense is spared — and plates never run empty. She could guide a drumstick to his lips, and Corvinus would be helpless to refuse…
No. He shakes himself out of the fantasy, summoning every ounce of self-control. He won’t be drawn into a night of debauchery… never again. Tonight, he has a duty to perform.
“Very kind, my Lady.” He disengages his hand from hers, like snipping a cord. At once, his head feels slightly clearer. “But I am a guard. Not a guest.”
“You are my friend,” Lady Adeline insists… and there’s no doubting the sincerity in her eyes. “I want you to have a good time.”
“I shall.” Corvinus swallows. Something painful twists in his gut, sharper than a cramp. It means something to be wanted. He never had such a thing in his life, before Willowlake.
For all her strangeness, Lady Adeline is a friend. He doesn’t understand her, doesn’t always trust her intentions, and must always keep his guards up around her… but she’s kind. Her sympathy is genuine, her devotion unwavering. The Lady never cringes from the sick, or turns away a person in need. She wants to help. Corvinus suspects she even enjoys it.
At the other end of the couch, Luke’s stomach gives a loud gurgle. He whines softly, cradling it. Corvinus can’t help glancing towards the gardener, brows furrowed.
“You’re alright, dear,” Lady Adeline soothes. As she leans over her latest pet, there’s a gleam in her eyes — it's clear her own hunger is still being satisfied. She cards a hand through Luke’s curls, and the young man moans.
“Shouldn’t have… had that last cake…”
“But you enjoyed it,” Lady Adeline preens. Her hand stills over his stomach, almost mocking. “Didn’t you?”
His exhale shudders. He gazes up at her as if caught in a dream. “M-my Lady…”
“Hmm?”
His mouth hangs helplessly open for a moment… before a wet belch rolls up. Chuckling, the Lady leans back, gaze flickering towards Corvinus — what can you do? her shrug seems to say. This is just another morning for her. Tomorrow, she might have tea with one of the guards, or a footman… gods, she caught a traveling salesman once.
Corvinus takes a step back, ducking his head respectfully. “Tonight, my Lady. I have it in-hand.”
“Of course you do,” Lady Adeline replies, with a gentle smile. Beside her, Luke whines softly, hands fumbling for the button of his trousers. Without even looking down, Lady Adeline bats his hand away. No relief, unless she allows it.
Corvinus slips out of the parlor, his face set in a mask of stone. Not his business, he reminds himself. Even once the haze of rose perfume has faded, the soft clouds drifting out of his mind… something deep in his gut still aches.
It feels like hunger. Or envy.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
By late evening, the ballroom is alight with all the revel and rowdiness of a Willowlake fête. The evening pulses like a supernova captured under glass. Chandeliers shimmer like hungry stars, casting a golden veil over the silk-clad throng. Figures twirl with reckless abandon — one song blends into another until they are not sure how long they’ve been dancing, or how long they’ve been here. The air is alive with laughter, clinking glasses, the rustle of brocade. Every room spills over with guests… yet the wine casks never run empty. And the food… oh gods, the food.
Platters groan under roasted meats dripping in a honeyed glaze… delicate pastries, drizzled with cream and sugar… fat baked potatoes with butter spilling past their lips. Even the vegetables are roasted to perfection. The food is succulent — addictive, even. Rich flavors linger on one’s lips long after their plate has been emptied… and, before they’re consciously aware of wanting it, they have another serving.
The food, the drinks, the dancing! A violinist plays a frenzied waltz—or is that just the room spinning? People slump into plush armchairs, melt against pillars, fall over each other…
It’s all deliciously debauched.
Corvinus counts the minutes until it’s over.
One gentleman staggers into a pillar; his cravat is loose, his cheeks flushed. He clutches his middle with a soft moanthe , the rich food shifting inside him lead.
“At ease, sir,” Corvinus says, appearing at his elbow like a shadow.
The man presses the back of his hand to his mouth, muffling a hiccup. “E- e’scuse me,” he slurs. “Had a bit more th’n… I intended.”
“It’s no trouble,” reassures Corvinus. One hand light upon his elbow, he’s able to expertly steer the man without him feeling corralled. He’s done this a dozen times tonight already — it’s a well-hones talent.
“That third helping…” The man hiccups again, stumbling over his own feet. “Couldn’t turn away.” His fingers knead helplessly at the curve beneath his waistcoat. Corvinus helps him down onto a settee, and the man slumps down, both hands cradling his gut.
Such undignified behavior would have been unheard of earlier in the night. These soirées, though… people are looser with their manners and their morals.
He passes the drawing room, full of secluded corners and curtain-draped awnings; it is, unofficially, the place guests go for a moment alone. (If they had enough sense, they’d stumble back to their bedrooms — of course, most of the guests are staying the night — but fore frequently, people end up sleeping where they collapse. In the morning, Willowlake’s staff will have to coax disoriented revelers out of tangled heaps on the sofas and floors. Can’t have anyone sleeping through the breakfast buffet, after all…)
A lady giggles behind her fan, fluttering wine-glossed eyes at the passing guard. Corvinus merely nods. He passes portrait artists and sorcerers, familiar townspeople and visitors from other worlds. One lady lays sprawled back against a windowsill, her face flushed with drink and bliss; there’s a gentleman kneeling between her thighs. Corvinus rolls his eyes, stalking over to the pair. “The windowpanes are not that strong,” he warns… and thankfully, they take the hint.
“Mmph! Corvinus—“ Jacqueline, one of Lady Adeline’s most trusted ladies-in-waiting, emerges from a velvet-draped alcove. Her hair is a disheveled tangle; her mouth is sticky with powdered sugar, and vivid lipstick-kisses stain her collarbone. “Corvinus,” she beseeches, grasping his arm — and he just has time to think gods, not another threesome before she asks, “Where’s Emilia?”
That’s… a great question, actually.
Where is Emilia?
He left her by the chocolate fountain earlier in the night, and assumed she’d stay close — but, as his trained gaze sweeps the room, Corvinus comes up empty. No blonde fae-child in a gown of violet silk. Emilia’s absence suddenly rings louder than any shout.
He’s been so distracted wrangling the party guests… he should have noticed.
Corvinus’s stride turns purposeful as he circuits the ballroom. He’s too aware of everything now — the clinking of glasses, the raucous laughter, the trill and groan of the orchestra. It’s all sickeningly opulent. The entire estate is drunk on its own atmosphere, glutted with pleasure ‘til it’s fit to burst.
He imagines the walls splitting open, the marble floors buckling in on themselves… Willowlake caving in to Hell, in a torrent of shattered porcelain, golden silverware, chandelier shards, and debauched people. Would they deserve it? Must all people who enjoy themselves so shamelessly suffer as a consequence of their gluttony?
Or can they simply… enjoy it?
At last, his gaze settles on a familiar figure. Flush-faced and bright-eyed, her coronet of gold set crooked from a night of dancing… there’s Emilia. She’s perched upon the edge of a banquet table, swinging her feet like a child. A starry-eyed courtier sits at her elbow, feeding her plums from a gilded bowl. Emilia parts her lips for each one, preening like a spoiled cat. She clutches a half-drained goblet; given the splash of wine staining the front of her gown, she’s already passed her limit.
Corvinus threads through the dancers to reach her. He catches fragments of overheard chatter — the ripple of a scandalous joke, the press of bodies passing too near — but the guard wont allow himself to be distracted. By the time he reaches Emilia, his gaze is steely.
“My lady,” he says, “you should not be sitting on the table.”
She turns, and her flushed face lights up at the sight of him. “Cor!” Emilia flings her arms out to embrace him — and nearly topping off the table with the effort. Not missing a beat, Corvinus steadies her… even as the young girl giggles against his shoulders.
“My favorite Cor,” she says again, stroking his raven hair. “I missed you! Where— where’ve you been? There’s so much—“ She gestures around the ballroom, as if that explains it all. Indeed, Corvinus can fill in the blank. “And you look so serious!” she chides, tapping him on the cheek. Have you enjoyed yourself for one moment?”
“I’m on duty,” he reminds her gently.
“Always on duty.”
Emilia heaves a sigh, and leans in — close enough that he can smell her wine-drenched breath. She’s still clutching him, and it makes him feel so protective. She shouldn’t be here. All this debauchery gets under his skin; he feels exposed, unsettled, dizzy. The only sober man in a room full of excess. Seeing Emilia caught up in it, though…
”I’m carrying you out of here,” he says firmly, grip tightening around her waist. “You’ve had enough.”
“And you haven’t had enough.” Emilia pouts. Something flashes in her eyes, petulant… and dangerous. She’s too old for tantrums, but the girl has other methods of getting her way. How many afternoons has she spent with Lady Adeline, studying at her elbow as the mistress weaves her spells?
Corvinus catches on too late. The itch under his skin, the faint haze in his head. The whiff of perfume… not rose, but gardenia. Emilia’s favorite flower.
The girl smiles, her lips glossy with wine. A sweet haze presses in on Corvinus’s mind.
“I know what you need,” Emilia sing-songs.
“Don’t,” he growls, fingers digging into her waist. It must hurt, but she doesn’t flinch.
“Cor,” the girl beseeches, tracing a lazy spiral over his brow. It makes his head loll… his self-control wither. Ah, the girl’s been taught well. “Enjoy yourself tonight. For me?”
The guard grits his teeth. “I have a… responsibility…”
But these nights always end the same way. He’s been here so many times… telling himself how much he hates it, how he’s better than these nobles without a thread of self-control. He spends so much time focused on resisting the patty’s sway…
Yet by the end of the night, he’s just like everyone else. Stumbling around with a full stomach, his composure lost at the bottom of a wine bottle.
Emilia is no Lady Adeline — she doesn’t have the same power, the same sway. A stronger man might be able to resist.
Not Corvinus.
He feels a chalice being pressed to his mouth. On instinct, the guard’s lips part; he takes a gulp of sweet wine. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tries to deny how good it tastes.
Oh, Heaven help him. He’s already gone.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
Looking back on it later, Corvinus doesn’t know how he ends up sprawled on a divan in Willowlake’s grand foyer. The night is a blur; he remembers the fruity tang of liquor, the rich taste of a German chocolate cake. A lady in blue was fawning over him; she made him eat every bite, raising the fork to his mouth even when his stomach groaned in protest. Corvinus should have turned away, refused the indulgent sweetness…
And yet.
Now, here he is. Gazing up at the ceiling as it blurs and whirls above him. A chandelier hangs overhead, crystals glittering in the hearth-light. Like… fireflies floating around him. The longer he lays there, immersed in warmth, the more Corvinus feels like he’s floating too.
There’s a hand in his hair. He’s not sure where it came from. His chest jolts with a hiccup, and he grunts… but fingers trail over his scalp, soothing him like a mother’s kiss.
“Shush,” a voice murmurs. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”
Except… isn’t it morning already? The din of the party has died down. Some guests managed to get home; others are passed out on sofas or slumped in corners, wherever they were able to stagger to. Trousers hang open, corsets are loosened… several buttons litter the floor, where they must have popped off an unlucky man’s waistcoat. How much would someone have to eat to literally burst out of their clothes?
“Wha‘ss…” Corvinus swallows, and tries to force the words out — but they’re thick as treacle. Even slower than his thoughts. “Wha’ss… morning soon? Thought it was…”
He hiccups again, a hand drifting to his stomach. His own pants are unbuttoned, he realizes; he’s laying here with his belly on display, swollen taut from all the wine and cake. A faint groan escapes him. He ought to roll over… to get up…
But that hand in his hair soothes him again. The guard melts, his eyes fluttering.
“You’ve had quite enough fun tonight,” that silky voice chides… and Corvinus would recognize it anywhere. The cloud of rose perfume, the gentle hand…
He blinks up at Lady Adeline, and sighs. “Every time.”
“Yes,” the Lady agrees mildly. She gives her faithful guardsman’s belly a light pat. “Every time. Don’t you just love these balls?”
Even in his overindulged state, Corvinus can still narrow his eyes. The Lady giggles, tossing silvery hair over her shoulder.
“I must say, it does you good to relax. To… enjoy yourself for once.”
Corvinus groans in reply, squeezing his eyes shut.
Next time will be different, he vows to himself. The next ball… he won’t succumb to temptation. He’ll remain stolid, responsible, in-control all night long. Tonight, though… well, he’s already given in. He sinks into Adeline’s lap with a deep sigh, eyes fluttering. May as well enjoy it.
