Chapter Text
Bartholomew Henry Allen, Duke of Wynsingham, took his eggs in the breakfast room of Allen Manor. He broke open the shell of a soft boiled egg, just as his dear friend and visitor, Sir Cisco Ramon, stumbled sleepily into the room.
“Good morning,” Barry greeted him cheerfully.
“Morning,” Cisco groaned back, holding the bridge of his nose as he sank into a chair next to his oldest friend.
“Under the weather?” Barry asked innocently with a smile, as a footman brought him the mail on a silver platter.
“You could say that,” Cisco sighed in reply.
“Too much brandy will do that to you,” Barry clucked in mock disapproval as he sliced open the top letter and unfolded it.
“So will a broken heart,” Cisco moaned.
Barry chuckled as his eyes skimmed a letter from his actuary, detailing analysis of the estate reforms Barry had proposed.
He had sympathy for his friend. It was, in fact, the reason he’d invited Cisco up to the estate for the weekend. A hunt and some revelry would undoubtedly help to take Cisco’s mind off of his broken engagement with Lady Cynthia.
They may have overdone it on the revelry part.
Cisco’s hand slipped into the tray of letters, digging for something that caught his eye.
“I beg your pardon,” Barry exclaimed, “Is it not considered beyond the bounds of propriety to go through another person’s mail?”
“Calm down,” Cisco replied, unswayed. “We’re basically brothers, anyway.”
“Be that as it may,” Barry huffed, “I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Even when it has the seal of the Queen?” Cisco taunted, holding up an adorned envelope with a large, distinct red wax seal.
Barry’s eyes paused on the envelope. He’d seen several of them before. It usually meant one thing. He watched with strange fascination as Cisco tore open the envelope and read the contents.
“The Queen is holding a ball in a fortnight,” Cisco summarized. “All eligible bachelors of the ton are required to attend.”
Barry turned his focus back to sticking a slice of toast into his soft boiled egg.
The fact that the Queen was hosting a ball indicated one of two things: the first was that she was seeking a concubine. After all, it was the tradition that the monarch would have a variance of dalliances before eventually finding a consort. The second meaning was that she had found one and wanted to show him off. And since the Queen had so recently selected Sir Scott Evans, it was likely the latter. The thought made Barry’s stomach twist in some unnamed fury.
“You have to come this time,” Cisco insisted. “If I’m going to get back on the horse, I need my best friend by my side. And what better place to do it than at a royal ball?”
Barry took his time to chew and swallow the morsel in his mouth. “Technically, I also had to go last time, too.” But he hadn’t, sending his regrets on account of ‘being ill.’ The truth was, he couldn’t bring himself to watch the Queen fraternize with some half-wit while he never even had a hope of catching her eye.
“What are you going to do, stay holed up in here for the rest of your life? Alone?” Cisco badgered him.
“Perhaps,” Barry replied, sipping from his coffee.
“Look, she’ll never notice you if you aren’t even in the room,” Cisco pointed out. “And she’ll be looking. Word is, Sir Scott is on his way out.”
Barry swallowed. “He is?”
“Yep,” Cisco sighed. “Didn’t last very long. I wonder what he did to displease her.”
Something hot flooded Barry’s veins at the idea of someone displeasing the monarch. He would do anything to please her if only he were given a chance.
“All right,” he conceded. “I’ll go.”
❦
Queen Iris surveyed the ballroom from her throne, dressed in a golden gown, her neck adorned with the royal diamonds. The lords and ladies of the ton danced before her, a glittering sea of wealth and privilege. She flitted her fan in front of her face and stifled a yawn. She’d endured so many of these events. They were beginning to grow tiresome.
Still, she yearned for a new companion — one who fits nicely by her side. Perhaps even one who could rise to the occasion of becoming her consort. But she was beginning to lose hope. With every suitor, she became a little more disillusioned. They entertained her for a time. And at least she could pick the ones she found most pleasing to the eye. But after a while, they all… bored her.
This time, she wanted something different.
She scanned the sea of heads. The problem with the ton was that it was insular. She knew all of these faces, and she already had her pick of them. Still, a ball was the only and best way for her to meet people. It wasn’t as if she could simply go down to the local tavern and join in the revelry, no matter how much the thought appealed to her.
“Any candidates this evening, Your Majesty?” A melodic voice sounded in her ear. It was Leonard Snart, her most trusted servant and advisor.
“That remains to be seen,” she drawled, still watching the gentry swirling before her.
“If I may,” Leonard offered softly. “Perhaps focus on the sidelines.”
Iris turned her head to survey her advisor. “The sidelines?” She wasn’t after a wallflower.
Snart tilted his head while his eyes darted sideways in a subtle motion to the outskirts of the ballroom.
Iris huffed impatiently as she reluctantly scanned the fringes. As suspected, it was mostly the eccentrics and outliers who could not find a dance partner, mixed with those who had fallen from social graces by way of scandal.
But no — there. There was something interesting to her. Some one. Tall, slender, neat chestnut hair swept perfectly off his forehead, delicate gentile bone structure she could admire from even across the room. She’d seen him before, she was sure. But not lately.
He appeared reserved, observing the room, just as she did. Every now and again, his green eyes darted up to where she sat as if he couldn’t help himself.
Iris was no stranger to glances. Most eligible, confident men gazed hungrily at her during these events, hoping to catch her interest by sheer force of eye contact alone. She avoided the ones who were too eager. It was easy to spot a sycophant.
But this, this was different. This man only looked her way when he thought she wouldn’t notice, as if he didn’t want to be caught. How interesting, Iris thought.
“Who is that?” She asked, pointing to the man with her fan in a brief jab. She watched him with curiosity as he spoke with a slightly shorter, long-haired friend. The friend seemed to be urging him to join the dance floor. The tall one declined.
“Barry Allen, Your Majesty,” Snart answered. “The Duke of Wynsingham.”
“The Duke of Wynsingham,” Iris repeated. “I have not seen him recently.”
“No, Your Majesty,” Snart confirmed.
“Why is that?”
“He tends to miss the balls where you have already selected a companion,” Leonard explained.
Iris balked. “But it is the law that all eligible bachelors must attend.”
“Unless they are in poor health,” Snart clarified.
Iris surveyed the Duke. “He doesn’t look poorly.”
“No, ma’am.”
“Is he?”
“It is said that he is rather in fine form.”
“Yet, he has missed many receptions, or I would be more familiar with his face.”
“He has sent his regrets citing poor health several times,” Leonard confirmed.
“Do you mean to tell me he lied? To his Queen?” Iris bit at the words.
Leonard was silent, though she could not help but notice an irksome smirk was curling across his cheek.
“Do I infer from your insight that he was displeased with my other companions?” She asked of her advisor.
“One could certainly make that inference, Your Majesty.”
“Then I take it that he would prefer my company to yours?” She asked with a smile, always preferring to confirm the interests of potential suitors ahead of time.
Leonard’s eyes scanned over the Duke’s scarlet jacket and the way it clung to his form. “Regretfully, I think he would be much more interested in your company than mine,” he chuckled.
Iris gave him a long sideways glance and a swat of her fan. She allowed Len the odd jibe from time to time. It amused her. More than that, it indicated that he was always honest with her. Few were so bold to speak to her in such a way. She valued that honesty above all else.
“We will dance,” Iris decided, rising from her throne.
“Very good, Your Majesty,” Leonard replied. “A fine choice.”
Her advisor kept to her side as she descended the dais. It was his responsibility to part the crowd, though they usually did so of their own volition.
A hush fell over the room as the guests realized the Queen was on the move. Heads turned, and whispers followed as she crossed the room, edging closer to her destination. The crowd seemed bewildered that she had traversed so far. Usually, she would wait until a person of interest had danced quite near the throne.
Determined to reach her pick, Iris pressed through her surprised subjects, right to the edge of the chamber.
The Duke of Wynsingham was the most surprised of all. He had been casually sipping his wine, pretending not to notice the monarch’s movements, all the while sneaking glances at her in the same way Iris had observed from the dais. What a curious man , she mused.
The room fell silent as she paused in front of him.
Iris watched in amusement as his face went slack in astonishment.
This was her favorite part, seeing the reaction of her chosen pick. It was telling, the way a man reacted to her. And to date, this was the best reaction by far. She decided to have some fun with him. She turned, just slightly to his friend, and smiled.
The long-haired fellow gave her an almost equal look of astonishment, quickly followed by what she could only describe as a profoundly regretful, apologetic look at the Duke, whose face had noticeably fallen in utter disappointment.
Despite how this amused her, she decided not to torture the Duke any longer and turned back to him. The faces of both men were noticeably relieved.
She waited, smiling. The monarch never asked a person to dance, but it was understood that an invitation was welcome if she presented herself in front of someone.
Finally, Barry seemed to come to his senses, pressing his wine glass into Cisco’s hand before bowing deeply and extending a hand to his Queen. “Your Majesty,” he spoke, “May I have a dance?”
His voice was gentle but pleasant as if he had rehearsed the words a million times before. Still, she could not help but notice the tiny waver in his tone, like his throat had gone dry.
“You may,” she replied, slipping her gloved hand into his as he rose from genuflecting.
With surprising grace, he led her out into the center of the ballroom, where the floor cleared for them. The orchestra played a moderate waltz. She watched him swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing temptingly in his neck while he found her waist with one hand and held hers in his other.
He held her gaze steadily as they began to turn. Most men couldn’t hold her eyes on the first dance, unsure how to interact with a Queen. She’d assumed that he’d be no different by his previous behavior, so she found this incredibly bold. There was something in his eyes that disarmed her, an intensity and admiration as if he’d yearned to hold her attention for a long time.
Then again, if that were the case, why is he still silent? She wondered. Then, she kicked herself. He was not permitted to speak until she did.
“My advisor tells me you missed the last ball on account of poor health,” she said.
“I am better now, Your Majesty,” he answered.
They danced with surprising ease. Truth be told, Iris was always fighting the urge to lead. Some men didn’t know how to handle it. With the Duke, she couldn’t tell who was leading. Perhaps she was, or perhaps he sensed this about her and knew exactly how to guide her without her feeling out of control.
“Are you often ill?” She continued to inquire.
The color drained from his cheeks, and he did not answer.
“I am told you have missed a number of Our receptions.”
His grip tightened at her waist, and for the first time, his gaze dropped away from hers. Still, he held her fast, as if he didn’t want to let go.
“I was unable to attend,” he said at length.
“You are required to, by law,” she rebuked.
He nodded, still unable to meet her eye.
“Do I take it that you were not ill but unwilling?” She couldn’t help the edge to her tone.
Barry opened his mouth to speak, finally looking at her again, the apology in his eyes deferential.
“Have you a secret companion with whom you would rather spend your time?” The Queen interrogated.
“No!” He insisted. “No. There is no one.”
“Then you lied.”
They were silent as they took another turn about the room. He was doing it again — holding her gaze in that intense, saccharine way. At her waist, his hand radiated a heat that flooded her bloodstream in a way she rarely felt. He seemed content in the silence, but she wanted him to keep talking.
“Are you aware that lying to the Queen is treasonous?” She teased him. “And that treason is punishable by death?”
He clutched at her still, causing her breath to hitch in her throat as he did. “I would rather die than displease you, Your Majesty,” he breathed, his forehead tilting down to hers in a moment of startling intimacy.
“Then, let us dance,” she answered softly.
There is something about this one, she thought as she gazed up into the intensity of his emerald eyes. The heat from his fingers was still radiating through the layers of her gown, his hand like an anchor, holding her firmly but gently, guiding her in circles as they waltzed their way around the room. Everything else seemed to disappear around them.
Yes, she thought. This one.
❦
“Dude,” Cisco’s voice sounded in Barry’s ear.
Barry could barely hear him. He stared after the Queen as she returned to her throne. Had that really just happened? Had they danced for four songs, hardly speaking a word, and yet not needing to?
Was she not even going to choose another dance partner afterward, the way she was often wont to do, to disguise her intentions?
For real? Barry asked himself. She danced with me. Just me.
“Dude! ” Cisco exclaimed again, punching Barry’s arm as the crowd filled in around them.
Curious onlookers glanced their way as they passed, dancing around them.
“That was amazing!” Cisco exclaimed in a stage whisper. “She came right over to you! And then she looked at me, and I thought for a second — but, phew! I mean, close call, right? Like, obviously, it’d be you she was after…”
The sound of Cisco’s voice registered loosely in the fringes of Barry’s consciousness as he stared dumbly after his sovereign.
She focused on smoothing the folds of her skirts as she rested on her throne. Then, unmistakably, she looked up, and their eyes met.
Barry couldn’t breathe. He’d loved her for so long. Since before he’d been presented to society. Since he was a child, attending Court with his father, who was receiving an award from the late King. Barry remembered it well. Sitting beside his parents, looking over the aisle to see the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen in his life, falling in love with her during the reception while he chased her around the banquet hall.
It was years before he would see her again. Not until he was presented to her late father and out in society. She was still a princess then, but she’d grown into a young woman. When Barry saw that she’d grown even more beautiful, it was not just the innocent recognition of beauty he’d experienced years earlier. It was accompanied by a hunger that frightened him and burned beneath his skin.
Afraid of his desires and painfully aware of the rules of etiquette, he’d taken steps to make himself less obvious at royal events. As much as he longed for Iris’ attention, he was afraid of how he might act if he had it. He had to learn to be calm around her, first.
And then, later, her father had passed, and she became the reigning monarch. With the position came certain… privileges — notably, the accepted practice of taking special companions, concubines.
It was well understood that if a concubine did exceedingly well, they could one day become consort. It was a position many lusted after.
But not Barry. It wasn’t the position that he sought. It was merely the time and attention of one Iris West that he desired. She wasn’t just Queen to him. She was the queen of his heart, always and forever.
He’d attended the balls she’d thrown, but in repressing his youthful desires for her, he’d almost forgotten how to catch a woman’s eye. And so he was passed over, for several others including Viscount Edward Thawne and more recently, Sir Scott Evans. Each time it had pained him, but he knew there was little he could do to change things.
Then finally. Finally, she’d noticed him. Finally, he’d been able to hold her in his arms, dance with her, look into her eyes…
“... So you’re going to stick around, right?” Cisco was asking.
“Hmm?”
“You’re going to stick around. Not leave early like you usually do. In case, y’know. You get the call?”
“Uh — yeah,” Barry answered. He could hardly pay attention, for the Queen had just gestured to her advisor, Leonard Snart.
Barry watched as Snart bent forward so that the Queen could whisper something in his ear, something that made the advisor smile faintly and nod his head obediently. Then, Snart disappeared off the back of the dais and behind the throne’s curtain backdrop.
“Hey,” Cisco said. “Hey. Earth to Barry!”
“Hi,” Barry answered, finally snapping out of his reverie.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” he answered, noticing for the first time that his hands were shaking. “Did that just happen?”
A smile spread across Cisco’s face. “Yeah, man. She picked you. I’m sure of it. Just wait in a moment Snart will be —”
“Your Grace?”
Barry jumped at the sound of his direct address. He turned to find Leonard Snart standing behind him, wearing a bemused smile.
“Yes?” Barry replied with trepidation. Was what he thought was about to happen really about to happen?
“Her Majesty The Queen requests the pleasure of your company,” Snart declared. It wasn’t really a question.
Barry blinked. Beside him, Cisco grinned jocosely and gave him two thumbs up.
“Do you accept?” Leonard asked, when Barry didn’t say anything.
“Y-yes,” he sputtered. “Of course.”
Snart nodded curtly and motioned that Barry should follow him as he turned on a heel.
Barry glanced at Cisco, who waved him on encouragingly before he followed. Barry looked up at the dais as he followed Snart to see that the Queen had disappeared from her throne.
His heart pounded madly in his chest as Snart led him out of the ballroom through a service door behind a giant vase of hydrangeas, up a winding stone staircase, then down an ornately decorated hallway and into a smaller throne room. There was hardly a soul in this part of the palace. The chandeliers were dimmed, and little could be heard from the party below. They crossed the final room to a pair of tall, twin white doors with gold trim. Snart twisted the handle and the door opened into a darkened room. The advisor extended a hand, motioning that Barry should enter.
Barry approached cautiously, not knowing what he would find. Would the Queen be in there?
It turned out to be an intimately sized drawing room, with a roaring fire burning in the hearth along the far side. Its light danced across the walls, illuminating gauzy murals of a pastoral landscape. In the middle, comfortable looking seating had been placed around a low table. The heat washed over Barry, relaxing the muscles he hadn’t noticed were tense with anticipation.
“Make yourself at home,” Snart suggested.
Barry nodded and sat tentatively on the settee perpendicular to the fire.
“Her Majesty likes to offer her guests a refreshment, if it pleases you, Your Grace?” Snart asked, crossing the room to an armoire.
“Thank you,” Barry accepted the offer.
“Very good, sir,” Snart acknowledged, opening the door to the armoire and retrieving a bottle of champagne on ice. The advisor carefully poured two glasses, then set them on the table in front of Barry.
“Is this not a bit below your station?” Barry asked, curious as to why the Queen’s most trusted advisor was serving him drinks.
Snart only smirked. “Her Majesty finds it is a good opportunity for me to evaluate the candidates.”
“I see,” Barry replied. “How am I doing?”
“Well, so far,” Leonard answered. “Although that is primarily based on my background research at this point.”
“Background research?” Barry asked nervously. He racked his brain for anything he might have done that might have reflected poorly upon being background checked by the crown. “What exactly did you find?”
“A tender hearted fellow with a soft spot for the Queen.”
“Oh,” Barry breathed, with a sigh of relief. “I don’t suppose you’d be inclined to give a candidate advice?” He was nervous and eager to please.
Snart chuckled as he wiped the mouth of the bottle with a handkerchief and placed it back into the bucket of ice. “Let her see you,” he replied. “The real you.”
Barry nodded thoughtfully, then watched as Snart left the room, closing the doors behind him.
❦
Iris emerged from her dressing room into her private drawing-room. Here, she could receive guests in confidence, while keeping the most intimate chambers of her apartments unrevealed.
As she advanced into the room, the long, royal purple silk robe with which she had replaced her ballgown trailed behind her. Her hair was unpinned, falling in loose curls around her shoulders. The royal diamonds were still strung around her neck. She loved the way they felt against the bare skin of her decolletage.
Barry stood in front of the fire as she entered, the warm light flickering softly around his tall, lean silhouette. At the sound of her footsteps, he turned to face her.
She was pleased to see his mouth fall agape as he took her in. She liked that he seemed to be surprised by her. So many men looked at her as though they wanted to devour her, but it was she who wanted to do the devouring.
In his hand he held a glass of champagne, almost certainly provided by Leonard when he escorted Barry to the room. She noted that he’d taken a few sips, but only a moderate amount.
“Do you know why it is that you were summoned?” she asked, her voice low and rich.
Barry watched her steadily. There was a hint of bashfulness in his expression, but she saw no hesitancy as he nodded. “Your majesty requested the pleasure of my company,” he answered in a measured cadence.
Iris hummed in satisfaction. “Indeed.”
She circled him slowly, evaluating her selection.
“And how was my invitation received?” She asked him. She always made sure she had a willing participant. Power could be coercive, and she didn’t wish to coerce.
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously in a way that only excited her further. “May I speak freely?” he asked.
She nodded.
“With trepidation,” he answered breathily.
Iris’ face softened. It was not the answer she’d been expecting. Not after the way his hand had felt at her waist, or the way his eyes burned into hers, the way he seemed both to defer to and adore her.
“I see,” she acknowledged, unable to betray the disappointment in her voice.
“I was deeply honored, Your Majesty,” he rushed to add. “It’s just —”
She waited patiently as his voice drifted off. “Just?” she prompted. He wasn’t going to reject her, was he?
“It just — seemed folly to dare to hope that I would ever catch your eye,” he said shyly, his eyes dropping to his shoes.
The disappointment faded, and she found herself watching him adoringly. “Folly?” She mused. “Maybe. And yet, something tells me you hoped, anyway.” She stepped forward into his space as his eyes rose to meet hers. There it was again, that heat.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he answered. It was as if he couldn’t help but tell the truth, while he would rather have kept it to himself.
She hummed a knowing sound and stepped back towards the divan, where she lay sideways, her bare legs slipping out from beneath her robe. “Please,” she instructed with a wave of her hand to the settee opposite, “sit.”
Barry obeyed, perching himself on the edge of the seat as if waiting for some other instruction. Yet, while he waited, Iris noticed that he couldn’t help but draw his eyes over her long form.
“You are Barry Allen, Duke of Wynsingham,” she stated.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he answered in reverence.
“The Allens...” she mused. “A good family, though dwindling in numbers.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he repeated. “I am all that is left. My mother and father passed, and I have no siblings. Nor did my parents.”
“So the ancient estate has fallen to you, now?” Iris commented, a smile curling on her lips.
“Yes ma’am,” he answered.
“You know,” she said lightly, reaching forward to the table between them, and picking up the remaining glass of champagne. “My father once hoped to add the Allen estate to his lands. He tried to claim it during the conquest of the west, but he was wounded in battle. It was a Henry Allen who tended to his wounds. He is certain he would have died had Henry not provided him medical care.”
A faint smile passed over Barry’s lips. “My father, Your Majesty.”
“I suppose I should thank you on your father’s behalf, or I might not be here, seeing as this was before I was born. Regardless, my father couldn’t bring himself to appropriate the lands of the man who saved him and so the Allen estate was spared.”
Barry breathed a laugh. “I have heard as much, your Majesty. I owe my title to your late father’s mercy. Were it not for his generosity, I would be titleless and certainly not here now.”
“So you are pleased to be here?” She asked.
He fixed her with the same intense gaze he’d given her earlier. “I cannot imagine how anyone could be displeased when in your presence, Your Majesty,” he answered in a hushed tone.
A shiver ran up Iris’ spine. If she wasn’t a Queen, she might have blushed. “I am not sure you have answered my question,” she replied at length. “Does it please you to be here?”
“If your Majesty is pleased, then so too am I,” he replied.
“Barry,” Iris warned. “I am asking how you fe—”
“It pleases me greatly, Your Majesty,” he asserted quickly, with such certainty that even Iris was taken aback.
“Please,” she said after a moment, “call me Iris.”
He tested the sound on his tongue, “Iris”.
She smiled. “So we are in agreement?”
“Yes, Your — Iris,” he nodded.
She held out her champagne glass, which he clinked with his own, before they each took a sip.
“Well, then. Since that is settled,” she began. “I shall desire your company for the week. We’ll see how things go from there.”
She reached for the tiny bell, and the service door next to the fireplace opened.
“Snart will see you to your quarters,” she said. “I trust your stay will be quite comfortable.”