Act II
Scene I

It was a midwinter's night when the great hall of Berwald's castle was full of guests, dancing in the dim light. A fire roared in the grate, sending red shadows flickering on the walls, and those who didn't dance warmed their trembling hands by it.

Lukas danced with his new wife; Natalya was thin, her hair as pale and thick as fresh snowfall, her eyes icy. They danced routinely, their movements nothing but those of marionettes, expressions composed.

Mathias danced with Belle, her body swollen with a third child (the one to be named for Lukas, if Mathias fulfilled his promise). The warm young woman seemed washed-out, tired from the hour and the stage of her pregnancy. Mathias held her as they danced, but his eyes were on Lukas.

And of course, the centre of our story, our tragic hero, Berwald Oxenstierna himself, stood in the middle of the room. The couples seemed to dance in circles around him, shoes tapping the stone floor along to the beat of his own heart. On his arm with his fiancée, decked in her finery– but in the corner was the real object of his desires.

Tino stood stiff as a sentry, holding a tray of drinks, back against the wall. His face – his lovely face – was sad, but had slipped into that practised expression of nothing is wrong, nothing is here, I am a servant and nothing more.

He did not often spare a glance for Berwald, for fear that his heart would break if he looked at the man of his dreams too closely, he would not be able to control himself. Berwald was everything in this hall. Tino was nothing, nd as much as he knew he had to accept that, he could not.

Standing in the middle of the fray, Berwald's eyes followed his guests – bright colours, dresses that swished back and forth, hair bouncing in time with the music, everything swirling and spinning. Couples seemed to jerk about as if they were no more than puppets, and as Berwald's eyes widened, he looked to Yekaterina as if begging an answer, something, from her.

Her wide eyes were nothing more than a pale reproduction of Tino's.

"I need air." Blood rushing in his ears, Berwald all but stumbled from the room, dark tendrils curling at the edges of his vision. He felt faint, sick – everything was only pulled sharply into focus after he had waded out into the deep snow and taken a few sobering gasps of frigid air.

There was silence, for a while. Nothing but the snow and the stars and Berwald. The Swede looked up, sighing deeply, before burying his face in his hands.

This was all wrong. He didn't want to marry Yekaterina. He didn't want to be forced into this production of a marriage with a young woman worth nothing to her own father. He didn't want to produce a string of children as heirs to his title.

All he wanted was his one love, a sweet-faced little Finn. Was that too much to ask?

"Sir?"

Berwald whipped around, the icy wind stinging his eyes as he saw Tino trudging through the snow towards him, a cloak hastily wrapped around his shoulders as some sort of protection against the night.

"Sir, please come back inside! You'll fall ill if you stay out here for too long!"

"I won't," was Berwald's faint reply, though he could already feel his body stiffening. He was only wearing his formal clothes, after all.

"Sir!" Tino's voice cracked, and when he was near enough, he grabbed Berwald by the lapels, trying to pull him. "Berwald! You'll catch your death!"

"No matter – "

"What do you mean, no matter?" Tino's eyes burned as he looked up at his master – his lover. "How can you say such a thing? You're to be married in three days!"

"It's your birthday."

That stopped Tino dead in his tracks. "What did you say?" His voice was quiet over the moan of the wind.

"You said your birthday was midwinter," Berwald stated calmly, his hands resting on Tino's shoulders, rubbing them lightly.

"I'd mark it as tomorrow," Tino whispered, the fire in his eyes glowing brightly. "You remembered."

"As if I would forget."

Then, Berwald pulled Tino into a strong kiss – not just a loving one, but a desperate one, the kiss of a man who feels his world falling away and grips to the one person he knows can save him. They kissed passionately, Tino's fingers tangling into Berwald's hair, with Berwald's arms around his waist, their bodies pulled flush together.

The glowing embers of a dying fire in Berwald's soul flickered hopefully.

And from inside, a pair of knowing eyes watched them.

A/N: The drama only continues... review if you liked it!