Yang Wenli taking the Rosenritter as his favored troops was one thing. They were an established unit in the Free Planets Alliance, and—despite all the whispers about Walter von Schönkopf becoming the next traitor—people understood why Yang Wenli would wield them as a powerful blade.
Yang Wenli being given Iserlohn as his command station was inevitable, once he’d captured it. He settled in easily, with no complaints about Imperial architecture or design. The everyday civilians of the Free Planets Alliance might not know that, but those who worked with him certainly did. Not everyone found it so simple. Word leaked about how Admiral Yang seemed no different in Iserlohn than on Heinessen, and how Commodore Schönkopf stood so easily at his side.
It all meant that everyone was primed for how—after competently putting an end to the coup—Yang Wenli welcomed the Imperial Admiral Merkatz with open arms.
This time was different from the other instances of Admiral Yang making use of Imperial cast-offs—a term Yang Wenli and his people ground their teeth at—in service of the Free Planets Alliance: Admiral Merkatz was an Imperial officer asking, seemingly of his own free will, for Yang Wenli. This time, the politicians did not look so kindly upon Yang Wenli. This time, they leaked enough information to let rumours fly, and quietly encouraged them.
Official announcements shaded into hearsay, and gossip swiftly rose in the hot searches. Less than a week after Yang Wenli and his fleet finally left Heinessen, the headline in front of everyone’s eyes read “Is Yang Wenli in Bed with the Empire?”
This so-called news, a tabloid article of questionable repute, naturally spread to the Yang Fleet as well.
Mostly it was treated as an object of derision and laughter, shared with a “Can you believe this?” or “Get a load of this crap!” by the common soldiers. They had all heard their admiral speak about the importance of survival and his unwavering desire to uphold the freedoms he believed every person had a right to. What was less Imperial than this?
A few people thought differently.
Julian’s righteous anger was unsurprising. He railed to anyone who would listen about how Admiral Yang’s philosophy was the natural outgrowth of the Free Planet Alliance’s values, and that anyone who couldn’t see that was a fool. The other, older, members of Yang Wenli’s personal staff agreed, but none had the ferocity of a teenage boy.
The only person who willingly entered into Julian’s campaign countering the gossip rags was Lieutenant Greenhill. Her fondness for Yang Wenli—and aggravation at his unwillingness to care about such things—dovetailed beautifully with Julian’s endless energy. Together, they plotted how best to entice reporters to talk about Admiral Yang’s achievements instead of unfounded rumours.
Newly-promoted Admiral Schönkopf himself was, perhaps, the only other person who was just as calm as Yang Wenli himself upon hearing the “news”.
“In bed with the Empire, eh?” Schönkopf asked, looking over Yang’s shoulder to read the article on his tablet’s screen. “Am I scheming to lure you away and present you as a gift to that Lohengramm kid in this one?”
That tabloid run, following the announcement of their victory at Iserlohn, had been deeply entertaining and provided a wealth of evening entertainment for the Rosenritter as they read them aloud with relish. Schönkopf had listened and laughed with as much attention as any other member of his team; the fictional Traitor Schönkopf led a life a great deal more interesting than the real thing, which mostly consisted of training, bureaucracy, and waiting to learn what battlefield he’d lead his men to next.
Yang shifted from where he was sitting on the little table in Schönkopf’s rooms, feet reaching down to meet the floor as he stood. They’d long accepted that Yang’s own quarters left them too open to interruptions; though Schönkopf’s were smaller, they had privacy here. As Yang pivoted to face Schönkopf, he said, “No, this one thinks Admiral Merkatz is a double-agent biding his time.” Yang sighed. “That’s a more legitimate fear.”
The slight frown on Yang’s face wasn’t anything new, but Schönkopf’s heart still ached at the sight of it. He tugged Yang close for a hug, ignoring the tablet squished between them; Yang could set it down if he wished. There wasn’t any point in lingering on potential outcomes they couldn’t influence right now, so he pressed a kiss to Yang’s cheek and then whispered, “Do you want to get in bed with the Empire?” into Yang’s ear, letting his voice shade into a teasing leer.
As Schönkopf had hoped, Yang laughed. He drew back a little, hair tickling at Schönkopf’s nose in passing. “Are you jealous?” Yang asked, setting the tablet down. “I think Traitor Schönkopf would be thrilled by Traitor Yang.”
“Traitor Schönkopf would be, since he’s in bed with the Empire too.” Schönkopf slid his hands down Yang’s back until he could loop his fingers into Yang’s belt. “But we aren’t.”
Yang hummed and rested a hand on Schönkopf’s cheek. His eyes, dark as the vastness of space, pierced Schönkopf with the same uncanny honesty that had shaken Schönkopf at their first meeting. “Do you want to be Imperial enough for those rumours to be true?” Yang asked softly, thumb rubbing along Schönkopf’s cheekbone. “Not about us running to the Empire, but about me sleeping in an Imperial bed.”
Schönkopf swallowed and turned his face into the warmth of Yang’s palm. “I want you in my bed,” he said, very quietly. It didn’t matter that they’d spent long nights and brief snatches of days there already; it mattered that rumours could turn ugly far too quickly if given even the smallest seed of truth. “Do you think it counts?”
“You have me.” The calm assurance of his voice was the same here as it was on the battlefield. “And only you can choose if the bed you lie in is part of the Alliance, Imperial, or something else entirely, Schönkopf.”
“It’s yours,” Schönkopf said, and kissed Yang’s palm. The words came too quickly, too easily; they were too much a promise of a future neither of them could ensure they would have. “No government can claim my bed for their own.”
Yang smiled at him, brilliant as the stars. “Take me to your bed, Schönkopf,” he said, looping his arms around Schönkopf’s neck. “There’s none I’d rather be in, save my own.”
Schönkopf nodded, heart beating quick and hot, then bent to sweep Yang off his feet. The laughter trailing them as Yang clung to his shoulders was worth it. The warmth of Yang’s mouth, the touch of skin on skin—
Rumours were nothing compared to the truth.