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The first red flag should have been Sedene seeking Wriothesley out.
They are on friendly enough terms, but Sedene is Neuvillette’s secretary, which leads to their interactions being completely professional. She is fond of him, that’s clear enough. Wriothesley has a good nose and a sense of people. Sedene might not be mortal, and Melusine’s might not ascribe to secondary genders, but her scent tells him plenty. She’s pleased with his presence, particularly when it comes to matters of their Sovereign.
That being said, Sedene only seeks him out alone for two reasons:
Neuvillette has requested his presence, or Neuvillette is in heat.
Neither seem to be the problem this time around. She seems unconcerned for the most part—if Neuvillette’s in heat, there’s always a tinge of worry that clings to her scent. If it’s merely a request to see him, her scent is amused, tickled pink by their Emperor’s thinly veiled need. But this time, Sedene stands before him looking tired and a little bedraggled.
“He won’t see anyone,” she says.
Wriothesley nods. “I know. He sent me away this morning. Wouldn’t even let me in the door.”
He doesn’t need permission to enter Neuvillette’s rooms, nor does Neuvillette typically send him away. The demand was odd, which made Wriothesley respect it. But, now here is Sedene, with circles under her eyes, and a tired countenance making Wriothesley rethink his actions.
“I think that he needs you.” A pause. “Well, a doctor wouldn’t hurt, but he refuses even Sigewinne, so you’re the next best option.”
A doctor?
Wriothesley's brow knits together. “Sedene, is he alright?”
She snorts. Doesn’t sound remotely concerned. “He’s just a little sick. Like most men, he’s taking it dramatically, but he’ll be fine. He would benefit from having his…” Sedene trails off, a paw against her chin. “You know what you are,” she amends, offering a quick glance around. Their bond isn’t a secret, least of all to the Melusines, but it's something the Court hasn’t yet publicly called out aside from gossip. Sedene’s bid to play it safe is sweet.
“Sovereign or not, he is still a man,” she continues. “A typical one at that.”
“Doubtful,” muses Wriothesley.
“You’ll see.” Sedene waves him on. “I know he wants you there, he’s just too stubborn to ask. Go forth and scent him.”
“Miss Sedene.”
She pays Wriothesley no mind, hugging her binder of paperwork to her chest, and stepping around him to go back to work. “Best of luck to you, Monsieur.”
Wriothesley is left standing there, a hand against his neck as he rubs it. Neuvillette, sick? Not heat sick? Wriothesley supposes stranger things have happened, but the thought of it is strange. In all his years at the Court, he’s never once seen Neuvillette so much as sniffle.
He thumbs his chin. “Well, who am I to deny a request from the little lady?”
#
Wriothesley lets himself in, expecting Neuvillette to pick a fight the moment the door clicks shut behind him.
Instead, the room is quiet. It smells sour. Sickly and stale air is stagnant around him as he steps into the parlor, his nose twitching. “Well, that’s…”
Sedene was right. There’s a tinge of distress wafting through the air, punctuated by a groan of discomfort from the bedroom proper. Wriothesley had thought something was wrong. He’s still getting used to the bond they share, still trying to figure out just what Neuvillette’s thoughts feel like. He’d woken up earlier with a sour note lingering in the back of his mind and a dry mouth. Like day old, stale bread. A little bit off, but nothing overly concerning—which is why when Neuvillette refused to see him, even if their bond shook with simpering want, Wriothesley did not question it.
Clearly, he was wrong. Has a lot to learn. Wriothesley's alpha prickles, annoyed with himself for not catching on sooner.
Neuvillette’s bedroom is sweltering. Wriothesley shrugs off his coat the moment he crosses the threshold. There’s a lump in the bed, curled in on itself underneath the covers. Neuvillette’s shoulders rise and fall unevenly with shuddering, rattling breaths, discomfort clinging to him like a second skin.
(And, oh, Wriothesley hates that. He knows that he cannot move mountains, cannot undo the sickness that Neuvillette’s fallen ill with. But he can soothe him. He can slip into those sheets and scent him, and maybe that’ll make him feel better. Sedene said it would. Sedene said—)
Sedene says a lot of things and Wriothesley takes it at face value that Neuvillette would both want him and send him away. It’s sweet, really. Admirable. Wriothesley can’t help but chuckle softly as he shucks off his trousers, and undoes the fastenings of his shirt to make it breezier, looser.
The bed creaks underneath his weight. Neuvillette is dead to the world, stirring only once Wriothesley is halfway under the sheets, already slotted against him.
“I—wha—” His words are slurred by sleep and sickness. He rubs his face, groaning—and a sharp pang claws its way behind Wriothesley's eyes, discomfort shared by their bond. “Wriothesley? You shouldn’t be—”
“Sedene came to find me.”
A soft snort is lost to Neuvillette’s pillow. “Sedene,” he murmurs, his voice dry and cracked. “Persistent creature, isn’t she?”
“Mhm, just like you. Stubborn to the core.”
“You shouldn’t be here, beloved.” Despite what Neuvillette says, though, he makes no move to kick Wriothesley from his bed. He lies there, resigned. His scent shifts, mellower, even though there’s still a sour note crimping its edges.
Wriothesley curls an arm around his waist. Presses his face into the topmost knob of Neuvillette’s spine, ignoring the way his hair tickles his nose. “You want me here. Sedene doesn’t lie.” A pause as his mouth quirks upwards at the ends. “I can feel it through the bond.”
Neuvillette can’t hide the soft, syrupy warmth that floods the room now that Wriothesley is in his sheets. He groans softly, mostly from embarrassment. “I’m—beloved.”
“It’s okay to need me, sweetheart. I’m your mate. Your alpha. It’s my job to take care of you.”
“I—”
“I want to, so just rest, please. You can take whatever you need from me, I’m not going anywhere.”
Neuvillette turns in his arms. Presses close until his cheek is resting against Wriothesley's chest. He’s red-faced and flush. Sweat clings to his brow, dampening his hair. Wriothesley combs through it regardless. “You’ll reconsider when I vomit all over you,” moans Neuvillette morosely into his shirt.
Wriothesley's nose crinkles—that must be the sour smell that lingers. “Stomach bug?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. My constitution is…” Neuvillette trails off, realizing how stupid his words sound. “Even Sovereigns are beholden to the ire of ill-prepared foods on occasion.”
“Food poisoning?” Wriothesley bites at his lip and manages to tamp down his amusement. “Poor baby.”
“I’m not a baby. I’m not—” Neuvillette lurches slightly. “I should stop talking.”
“My omega,” whispers Wriothesley against his brow. He nuzzles the damp hair at Neuvillette’s temple. Rubs circles into the small of his back. “Just rest, okay? You can take the day off.”
A long moment passes. Neuvillette squirms slightly, but is otherwise comforted. “It is better with you here,” he admits. “I… I am unused to this, Wriothesley. Having a partner. I have always weathered things alone.”
That is something Wriothesley understands. “You don’t have to anymore. I’m here.”
“Mine,” mutters Neuvillette sleepy. “My alpha. My mate. I’m…” Another soft, half-grunt into Wriothesley's shirt.
Neuvillette slips back into a doze, purring against Wriothesley's chest. Soaks up his scent, the feel of him. The bond is quiet, content as he rests.
Wriothesley is soothed as well, his alpha churring in his chest with Neuvillette pulled close. Bliss, even with the awkward, sour smell. Wriothesley was meant to help, to serve, and for Neuvillette to crawl into his space, to seek him out to feel better—ah, those instincts flare at the thought.
He kisses Neuvillette’s brow and dozes off too.