Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Professor, you have an important visitor waiting in the audience chamber.”

Seteth’s voice boomed in the peaceful silence of the Blue Lions’ classroom, empty of everyone but the professor and house leader after the day’s lecture.

Not many would notice her slight frown in response, but after moons of studying her lovely face much more than was probably healthy, Dimitri was one of the few who could.

“Again?” she asked. “Why?”

Seteth heaved an exaggerated sigh and crossed his arms, like he had a hundred times before when confronted with Byleth’s ignorance of the church and the world at large. It was unfair, in Dimitri’s opinion. She hadn’t asked to teach at the Officer’s Academy, and considering the isolated life she’d led, her achievements as a professor were nothing short of exceptional.

Even so, there were wide gaps in her understanding, particularly in the areas of etiquette and social interaction. To compound matters, she was a commoner thrust into the nobility, a world of unwritten rules and hidden agendas. Dimitri had lived his whole life in that viper’s nest and still struggled to present himself passably.

That was because he was a beast merely playacting at being a man, the voices reminded him.

The timing of this visit was telling. Just last moon, the professor was not only revealed to have a rare major crest, but the ability to wield Fódlan’s most powerful relic. Students, staff, even clergy, that had looked down their nose at her when she arrived now fawned over her, desperate to gain her favor. And the people calling upon her could only have one objective in mind.

Dimitri himself had been the unwilling recipient of many an “important visitor”-- without fail, some ambitious minor noble who just happened to bring his vain, vapid daughter along to meet the prince.

The professor’s question had disturbing implications-- Again? How many rats had crawled out of the walls, hoping to obtain the favor of a woman they wouldn’t have deigned to even acknowledge mere moons ago? And why had no one explained to her the true purpose of these “visits”?

Dimitri set down his quill before the direction of his thoughts inevitably caused him to snap it in half, then cleared his throat. “Lord Seteth, might I have another five minutes with the professor to finish discussing this moon’s mission? I would be happy to escort her to the audience chamber afterwards, so you needn’t wait.”

Seteth was all too eager to dump his burden onto Dimitri’s shoulders. He gave a nod of thanks and left. Dimitri clenched his fists against a momentary, violent impulse to throttle the other man for treating the professor with such disrespect. But he pushed the feeling down, as he always did.

At the front of the classroom, the professor had turned her intense gaze onto Dimitri, her head tilted, waiting for his question about the mission. It wasn’t so long ago that he would have squirmed under that scrutiny, mistaking her placid stare for callous detachment.

Now he knew the truth, though; She wasn’t blank but open, ready to accept even the darkest, most shameful parts of him without judgment. Her words were few, but her kind, patient support was infinite, given freely to beggars and nobles alike.

He didn’t need to talk about the mission, of course, but he hadn’t wanted to embarrass the professor or give Seteth more reason to scoff at her. Dimitri felt a bit guilty for his lie. Silly, really, since his sins were so great that one little white lie hardly signified, but the professor deserved no less than his utmost respect. 

She appreciated a straightforward approach, though, so now that they were alone, he dove into the true topic of discussion without preamble.

“Professor, it sounds as if you have had many noble callers of late. Do you understand what they want from you?”

She shook her head, never wasting words when a gesture would suffice. 

“What have they told you?”

“They mainly tell me about how devout the people of their territories are,” she said with a shrug. “They should just talk to Rhea.”

Dimitri’s resentment of crests had never risen to the level of Sylvain’s, but he found this kind of behavior downright despicable. Though the professor's circumstances were unprecedented, she was hardly the only woman to be victimized by the nobles’ obsession with crests. Ingrid and Mercedes' mother came to mind as two of the more egregious examples.

When he ascended the throne, one of his first initiatives would be to combat this outdated mindset. His plan was to improve educational opportunities for commoners and promote crestless officers to visible posts to show that everyone had unique value despite their blood.

Not to mention establishing peace and stability in Faerghus so that relics could become obsolete, eliminating the primary motivation to preserve crests. It would be a long process, but one he hoped would result in lasting change.

But of course, that wouldn't help the professor now. The idea that her value came from the Crest of Flames infuriated him. With so many reasons to adore the professor– and he could name a hundred reasons, a thousand... her smile, her kindness, her fierce protectiveness– these hangers-on fixated on her rare major crest and powerful relic, not even seeing the extraordinary woman who wielded it.

He did feel a touch of amusement at the nobles’ floundering attempts to ingratiate themselves with her. If they thought Byleth cared about strengthening bonds with the church, they were laughably mistaken. Despite her deep connection to the goddess, she was indifferent at best to religious matters. Her focus was on practical, not spiritual, concerns. And food.

“Do you remember when we discussed the perceived importance of crests in Faerghus, Professor? After Miklan’s death?”

She nodded, the slightest furrow of confusion wrinkling her brow. It probably seemed a non sequitur to one who didn’t understand these matters.

“Well, as I said, many nobles are anxious to incorporate new crested blood into their houses, so that their bloodline does not dwindle.”

She gave no response. The furrow remained. He would need to elaborate further.

“The most common way to do this is by marriage.”

Still no sign that she took his meaning. He sighed. There was nothing for it.

“They want to marry you so that you might bear them crested heirs.”

That did it. The furrow in her brow was replaced by a subtly wrinkled nose. Disgust.

He couldn’t blame her. The words felt like poison on his tongue. That someone would think of her so callously was repulsive.

But even as he chastised the nobles for their interest, his mouth ran away from him, as it was wont to do in her presence lately.

“Have you ever considered marriage, Professor?”

She rested her chin on a fist in an adorable gesture of thought.

“Not while I was on the road,” she said. 

“And now?”

“Now I know how it feels to have a home and friends. And I’ve learned about my parents’ marriage." She brought her hands back to her sides. “I can see the appeal.”

Dimitri’s heart soared. Despite the knowledge that he would never be worthy of such a woman, something inside of him– something he’d thought long dead, eviscerated in the mud alongside Glenn four years ago– began to hope.

Hope was dangerous. Hope implied a future. And yet, his traitorous mouth still carried on.

“Your parents married for love, not security. Forgive my presumption, Professor, but it doesn’t sound like an arranged marriage would suit you.”

“No, I would only want to marry...” In an uncharacteristic show of uncertainty, she trailed off, even averted her gaze, cheeks pink, and goddess forgive him, he barreled straight past hope and yearned. “...someone I loved,” she finally finished.

Before he could make a total fool of himself– to his shame, he’d already failed his paladin exam that morning, so it certainly wasn’t the time for his big mouth to betray him by professing his hidden feelings– he offered her his arm to escort her to the audience chamber.

“Out of curiosity, Professor–” another lie to further blacken his soul, he was much more than just curious– “how many suitors have come to solicit your favor?”

She squinted, counting on her fingers as she composed a mental list. “Six?”

His steps stuttered. “Six? In two moons? Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“I figured it must be part of a professor’s job,” she said, stiffening almost defensively.

“You had no way of knowing, of course,” he reassured her. “But I am shocked the archbishop allowed such shameless behavior to go on.”

The professor put her hand under her chin again. He would never tire of her little mannerisms. “If it’s about... crest babies...” Dimitri winced, wondering what horrible ideas Sylvain had been filling her head with. “I think Rhea wants them, too. She said I would be a good mother.”

The professor would be an excellent mother. Dimitri knew that from observing her with the orphans during their swordplay lessons. But the archbishop’s intense interest in her becoming one was rather unsettling. 

Perhaps Lady Rhea was keen to start a dynasty of her own, and who better than the bearer of the goddess’ crest to be its progenitor? It seemed everyone wanted to tear off a piece of the professor for themselves. Selfish fiends.

Not that he had room to talk. He was just as greedy for her time and attention as the rest of them-- more, actually. But at least he differed from the others in one significant way. All he desired was to be near her, any other motives be damned.

“Actually...” the professor said. “There were seven nobles, but one left without speaking to me when Sylvain came in to retrieve his relic. Lord Bouchet, I think?”

The seed of an exceedingly foolish idea was planted in Dimitri’s mind at that moment.

“I imagine Sylvain said something... flirtatious?” She nodded. “That makes sense. Lord Bouchet is a vassal of Gautier. If he thought Sylvain was interested in you, he would have no choice but to abandon his petition.”

“Should I ask him to interrupt all my meetings?”

Her tone would have sounded serious to anyone else, but the slight curl of one side of her mouth and the beginnings of crinkling around her eyes told Dimitri she was teasing.

Thank the goddess, because the idea of everyone thinking she was courting Sylvain...

That dastardly seed was germinating, pushing itself inexorably towards the light.

“Well, that would only work for nobles from Gautier, and I assume you’ll have interested parties from all over the Kingdom. Probably the Empire, too.”

“So, to truly discourage them, I’d need a much more imposing suitor. Maybe someone royal...” She tapped her chin. The seed of foolishness burst forth, blooming and spreading its leaves to the sun. Did she also want– “Perhaps Edelgard could pose as my fiance.”

“Edel–? Professor, you–!”

Burning red though they were, Dimitri’s ears were treated to the most beautiful music he’d ever heard. When he looked down at his side, Byleth was laughing. Well, it would barely qualify as a chuckle for anyone else, but for her, she might as well have been doubled over, struggling to breathe.

Any embarrassment he felt from her teasing dispersed in an instant. He would suffer any humiliation she saw fit if he got to see her like this, mesmerizing smile gracing her beautiful face, tucking her hair behind her ear from where it had shaken free due to her laughter. It had been the greatest honor of his life to watch her blossom into her emotions.

“You never let up, do you, Professor?” he said, covering his embarrassment with a good-natured chuckle.

His spirit was light as the air around him as they made their way up the stairs to the archbishop’s audience chamber. At times like this, he could almost imagine a future for himself, living for something more than revenge. But as the doors opened and revealed their guest, the looming horror of the past reasserted itself, and his blood ran cold.

“Uncle?”

Arundel. Her visitor was Lord Arundel.

Was this some kind of twisted joke? This was the man Dimitri suspected was the mastermind behind Duscur! He was a murderer, a sick, wicked–

“Ah, my dear nephew. What a wonderful surprise. And Professor, we meet at last.” He had the audacity to grab a lock of her hair and stroke it with his thumb, gaudy ring catching the light as it moved. “My. You are as enchanting as they say.”

When Dimitri was a child, he had badgered Glenn into sneaking out to the lively street fair held during the midwinter holiday. It was a whole new world outside of the castle walls, and one of the first exotic things to catch his attention was a hypnotist in a bright striped tent.

The charlatan spoke in a smooth, soporific manner that was supposed to lull the listener into a state of susceptibility, so that they would do anything he said.

That was precisely the tone Arundel used, but Dimitri suspected his uncle would require much worse of his thralls than barking like a dog to amuse their friends.

Dimitri’s stomach turned at his sickly sweet speech and his filthy hands on the professor– she was Dimitri’s professor, how dare he–

“I summoned the lady, of course, but to what do I owe the added pleasure of your company, Your Highness?”

He had quashed his idea earlier, but Dimitri’s disgust with Arundel made him reconsider. It was no longer the self indulgence of a besotted schoolboy. No, there was a genuine threat to his innocent professor, and he would protect her. He must.

“It would be quite inappropriate for a betrothed young lady to be alone with a man that is not her intended,” he said. “Would you not agree, Uncle?”

To her credit, the professor gave nothing away with her reaction. She merely glanced up at him, one graceful brow arched. To an onlooker, it would be indistinguishable from an affectionate look between lovers.

It was almost enough to fool Dimitri himself.

“I see,” said Arundel, looking between the young couple. A smile unfurled onto his face like smoke rising from a pyre. “What a truly joyous occasion. My dear lady, let me embrace you. We are to be family, after all.”

Byleth stiffened, but leaned in slightly to allow Arundel to lay a hand on her shoulder and kiss her on the cheek. He certainly took his time about it, and Dimitri was close to throttling him if he lingered a moment longer. The prince settled for taking a defensive stance between his uncle and professor.

“Thank you for your well wishes, but we must take our leave. There is Academy business that requires our attention.”

“Of course, of course. Do look after your lovely fiance, dear nephew.”

Dimitri stepped up to his uncle, blocking his view of Byleth. “You can rest assured that no harm will come to her while I yet live. I swear that on my father’s grave.”

The thought of spending another moment in Arundel’s company was intolerable, so without thinking, Dimitri took a rough grasp of Byleth’s waist and hurried them out. It wasn’t until they were a good distance away that he realized how forward he’d been. Byleth must be livid with him for taking such liberties!

He pulled his hands off her and held them up like a criminal being arrested.

“Professor, I am so sorry! I should not have presumed—”

“Thanks for that,” she said. “Now, let’s head to the stables. Your riding needs to be a B by next week.”

And that was all. She continued on their path toward the classroom without another word about it. He chuckled awkwardly and trailed after her like a loyal puppy, dazed but smiling.

“As you say, Professor.”

Dimitri should have realized something was wrong when Sylvain knocked on his door before class. That skirt chaser was consistently the last to arrive to the professor's lectures, often still buttoning his shirt and running a comb through his hair.

But today Sylvain was up with the sun, and sporting a grin bright enough to rival it.

“Something I can help you with, Sylvain?” Dimitri asked with suspicion.

“When I told you I wanted to see you with a girl on your arm, I didn’t think you’d take it so seriously!”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” the prince said, unamused. “Whatever it is, please stay out of my personal affairs.”

“Personal? There’s nothing personal about the crown prince of Faerghus getting engaged! And to the Professor, of all people!”

Dimitri yanked Sylvain into his room by the arm.

“Hey, watch that strength, Your Highness! I kinda need both of those, you know.”

But Dimitri was having none of this banter. “Who told you I was engaged?”

“Dorothea. And she heard it from Petra, who heard it from Ferdinand, who heard it from Hubert...”

“... Who heard it from Edelgard,” Dimitri finished bitterly.

Of course his bastard of an uncle had told Edelgard before leaving. The man never could pass up an opportunity to ruin Dimitri’s life.

“I didn’t peg the ice princess as a gossip,” Sylvain said. “But I guess some things are just too juicy for even her to resist.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“Uh, besides all the Black Eagles and me? I may have mentioned it to a few people...”

Dimitri pinched the bridge of his nose. “And I’m guessing that Hilda is among those ‘few’?”

Sylvain at least had the decency to appear a bit abashed as he nodded.

Dimitri flopped onto his bed and ran a hand through his hair. “This is a disaster.”

“What? Come on, Your Highness! Engaged to the hottest girl in Fodlan, a disaster? You’re a legend, man! Congratulations!”

“I need to go see the professor,” Dimitri said, herding Sylvain toward the door.

“Ooh, you still call her professor? That’s kinda–”

He shoved Sylvain into his own room and slammed the door in his face. He did not want to know how that sentence ended. For a long moment, he stood doubled over with his hand resting on the wall, panic constricting his lungs.

What had he done?

But at the rate that this rumor was spreading, there was no time to wallow. Straightening his jacket and composing himself as best he could, he set out to find the professor and apologize for getting her into this mess. He barely took a few steps before he saw her, walking his way with single-minded purpose.

“We have a meeting. With Rhea. Now.”

“Ah,” he said, and every thought he’d ever had flew out of his mind as he stared back at her awkwardly. He should apologize. Or explain. Or something. After what seemed like hours but was only a few painful seconds, he sighed, “Well, lead the way, Professor.”

Behind the archbishop, Seteth was openly scowling, disapproval written into every line of his face. Lady Rhea, however, wore a kind smile, tilting her head in interest as they walked in.

“My dear, dear children,” she said, opening her arms. “What wonderful news has reached me!”

“Lady Rhea!” Seteth scolded. “How can you dismiss such a flagrant abuse of authority? A relationship between professor and student is inappropriate to the highest order!”

“Calm yourself, Seteth,” the archbishop sighed. “The student is an adult, a future king, no less, whom we have dispatched on several dangerous military missions. You are not being taken advantage of, are you, Prince Dimitri?”

Surprised by the sudden attention on him, he cleared his throat to answer. “No, of course not. Nothing of the sort, Lady Rhea. Though I do wish to exp–”

“See? He’s fine.”

Her advisor was not so easily convinced. “And how can we assure that Professor Eisner will be impartial towards her student?”

“I failed him on his paladin exam the same day we got engaged,” the professor offered.

Wonderful, they get to talk about his failure again. Maybe he could get Ingrid to carry a banner announcing it through the skies. He'd only veered off the prescribed course because the Professor had been smiling at something Manuela said, and he couldn't bear to take his eyes off her.

Lady Rhea looked at Seteth and gestured to the professor, as if to say, ‘What further proof could you need?’

“Now, you two will be married here at Garreg Mach, won’t you? What am I saying? Of course you will! And I’m sure the goddess will bless your union with many children!”

Dimitri’s face flushed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the professor take a sudden interest in her boots.

“Th-thank you for your kind words, Lady Rhea,” he said as politely as he could manage. “But class will begin soon, and–”

“Yes, of course. Run along. Byleth and I have much to discuss.”

He probably should have mentioned that the professor was a fairly necessary component of the aforementioned class, but all he could think of was escape. A hasty bow, and he was on his way. The professor shot him a betrayed glare, but it was too late to save her now.

In the corridor, he collapsed against the wall and took a few deep breaths. All things considered, that meeting could have gone a lot worse. He wasn’t expelled, Byleth wasn’t fired, and apparently, they already had the venue for their phoney wedding booked.

If only that had been the end of the humiliation, but the day had yet more in store for Dimitri. He flinched when a familiar gruff voice called out.

“Got a minute, Your Highness?” asked Jeralt.

“Oh, er, yes! Of course, sir.”

Dimitri looked longingly back at the doors to the audience chamber. He had left Byleth behind, and now there would be no witness to any murders that might take place in the next few minutes. It served him right.

“Take a seat, son,” Jeralt said as he settled behind his desk.

Son seemed less like the friendly endearment of an older man and more like a reminder of the many more years of martial experience the captain possessed.

“What can I do for you, sir?” Dimitri asked. “I assume this is regarding the professor?”

“You tell me.”

“I didn’t propose to her, I swear!” Dimitri squeaked. “It’s a false courtship. A ruse.”

The older man frowned at that. The change of expression made Dimitri realize Jeralt hadn’t actually seemed angry-- until now.

The captain pointed an accusatory finger across the desk. “So a noble brat wanting to marry Byleth is just some kind of joke to you? Does it make you feel like a big man, making fun of someone just because they're a little different?”

“What?” Dimitri asked, genuinely baffled. “No, of course not! If anything, I am unworthy of her hand. I only did it to protect her!”

“Protect her, huh?” Jeralt shifted back in his seat and crossed his bulky arms over his chest. “Now this I gotta hear.”

Dimitri took a deep breath, but it did little to prevent his panicked rambling. “Sir, did you know that six– no, seven! Actually, eight now!– nobles have traveled to Garreg Mach to ask for her hand? And the archbishop is encouraging it, so they’ll just keep coming! And when I saw Arundel, I– Well, I–”

“Arundel? That man's old enough to be her father!”

“Yes, but that is far from the worst of it. Trust me when I say he’s a dishonorable man. And he touched her, sir. I said we were engaged so that he would leave her alone. No one else was ever supposed to find out.”

“You thought a juicy rumor like the crown prince’s engagement– to a commoner, no less– wouldn’t have tongues wagging all over Fodlan?” Jeralt asked.

“I wasn’t really thinking, to be honest. He looked so predatory, like the professor was some shiny bauble to possess... I admit that I lost my composure, sir. You have my deepest apologies.”

Jeralt had relaxed his stiff posture, but his arms were still crossed, keeping a barrier between them. “What did you tell Rhea?”

“Ah, well. We told her the engagement was real. Otherwise, she would begin to shop for suitors again. I can go tell her the truth–”

“No, you did good, son,” Jeralt said. Dimitri couldn’t believe his ears. “Well, now that the cat’s out of the bag, so to speak, I doubt any more Johnny-come-latelies will be sniffing around the monastery.”

“It will only be a temporary reprieve. When the ruse is discovered, they shall return.”

Jeralt rubbed his chin, considering. “So maybe you two should keep up the act. For now, at least.”

“Sir?”

The gruff man strode to his bookshelf and reached for something behind a leather-bound volume.

“Here,” he said, proffering a silver ring with purple stones. He turned it this way and that, watching the light reflect off the amethyst’s faces as he spoke, voice low. “Can’t be engaged without a ring, after all. It’s no royal jewel, but it belonged to Byleth’s mother. I should’ve given it to her years ago, but I was too cowardly to broach the topic.”

“Oh, sir. That is a kind gesture, but I couldn’t possibly accept something so precious. The honor of presenting Byleth with this heirloom should be reserved for her true partner.”

For some reason, the captain gave a rusty chuckle as he slipped the ring into a velvet bag and dropped it into Dimitri’s hand. “Humor an old man, would ya?”

Byleth was waiting for her father and her fiance in the dining hall. After they sat down, Jeralt gave Dimitri a meaningful nod towards Byleth.

“Er, Professor?” She turned to him expectantly. “Your father has requested that you wear this for the duration of our... arrangement.”

She plucked the proffered ring from his hand, the warmth of her fingers brushing his palm.

“Jeralt’s ring.”

“He said it was your mother’s, actually,” Dimitri explained. She looked across the table at Jeralt, frozen mid-bite. “Though I noticed now that it matches your eyes rather well, like it was made for you.”

To his surprise, Byleth handed the ring back to him and held out her hand. Carefully as a brute like him was capable of, he slid the band around her finger.

Oh dear, this was much too close to his fantasies. If he wasn’t careful, he might start to think this was real. Thankfully, she wouldn’t be wearing the engagement necklace that was traditional for Faerghan queens. His heart might never recover from that sight.

The corners of her lips quirked up as she held her hand out and admired the ring. She looked for all the world like an excited bride. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. Did she have no idea what she was doing to him? It was so easy to pretend that this was real, that this could actually be his own life someday.

“Ahem,” Jeralt pointedly cleared his throat to catch the attention of the lovesick puppy staring at his daughter. “Now what’s this I hear about you failing your paladin exam? Any son-in-law of mine better know how to sit a horse.”

Dimitri buried his heads in his hands, groaning. “Understood, sir...”

Byleth entered the training grounds to a fight already well underway, but not the kind that involved lances and swords.

“What the hell did you do, boar?” Felix shoved Dimitri as he spoke, which was unusually aggressive, even for him.

“I’m not sure what you’re referring to, Felix.”

How did Dimitri stay so calm with someone yelling in his face like that? Even Jeralt, as easygoing a boss as you could find, wouldn’t tolerate a display like that from one of his mercs.

“The old man is here, and he’s all... smiley,” Felix sneered, his body shuddering. “It’s gross.”

“Oh, Rodrigue is visiting?” Dimitri asked brightly. “That’s wonderful news!”

Byleth tried to disguise her involuntary chuckle as a cough, but she was pretty sure both men caught it. It was a genius strategy, really, to stay completely unruffled while Felix raged. Dimitri denied him the fight he wanted so desperately, which only frustrated him more.

The man in question, Lord Rodrigue, entered the training grounds as if on cue.

“Felix, my son! We must have gotten separated on the walk here,” he said. Apparently, he was also adept at starving his son's hotheaded antagonism. “And Your Highness, it's been far too long, so I look forward to catching up. But you–” To Byleth’s shock, the duke turned to face her head-on, his charming smile bright enough to blind her in the afternoon sun– “are the enchanting young lady I came to see. Miss Eisner, please accept my most heartfelt congratulations. On behalf of the regent and myself, we could not have been more pleased to hear your joyous news.”

With great solemnity, he kissed the back of her hand, then pressed his forehead to the spot as he bowed deeply. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a startled squeak escaped. Her eyes sought Dimitri, pleading.

The prince jogged to her side and threw an arm around her shoulder, subtly pulling her away just enough that Rodrigue was forced to straighten up.

“Thank you, Lord Rodrigue,” he said. “Though I am quite surprised the news has reached Fhirdiad already. I haven’t even written to my Lord Uncle yet.”

Of course, he never intended to, but he left that part out, obviously.

“Ingrid is kind enough to write to me with news of the monastery, knowing that Felix tells me just short of the bare minimum,” Rodrigue said with a chuckle.

No wonder Felix was wound as tightly as he was. Everyone around him was always so... good-natured.

“Well, since you’re here, please do me the honor of dining with me tonight,” Dimitri said.

“Of course, Your Highness! In fact, I insist! I am eager to get to know Miss Eisner better.”

Oh, she was invited, too. She and Dimitri had been treated like a matched set the past few days, attached at the hip for all of their tasks. They were assigned to chores together, expected to eat all their meals together, and any summons that came for one of them included the other as well.

Worst, Lady Rhea had made them sit together in the front row for the weekly mass, and her sermon seemed to include a lot of pointed references to the goddess's many children. Even Dedue could hardly get near Dimitri over the past week because of the small crowd of well-wishers that shadowed their every step.

With anyone else, she would quickly tire of their company and need to be alone for a while. But Dimitri was a solid, comforting presence at her side. He was pleasant but not overly chatty, helpful but not overbearing.

Many students still thought she was emotionless, but Dimitri had a knack for detecting every minute change in her mood. He could read her as easily as Jeralt could these days, but Dimitri had an innate sense of what to say or do to put her at ease, something even her father hadn't mastered over the years.

When she was overwhelmed by all the attention they were getting, he would make up some official-sounding excuse to go hide from the crowd for a while. If she was restless, he challenged her to spar. And before her stomach could so much as whinge, he was leading her to the dining hall.

All in all, the extra time with him was quite enjoyable. It was hard to tell what Dimitri thought about it, since he was always so polite and composed no matter what. She hoped it wasn't too taxing for him.

At least their days at the monastery together were activities she was familiar with. Joining Dimitri for dinner with the most powerful noble in the Kingdom was another level of pressure, though.

She was going to need to find something to wear.

A few hours later, there was a knock at her door. It had to be Dimitri, from the sheer force of it, but there was a flurry of quick knocks instead of his usual three polite raps. Was he nervous?

Mercedes and Annette had done her hair and makeup, and Byleth had to admit the woman in the mirror was quite arresting. They’d gathered her unruly tresses back into a bun, putting her face and slender neck on full display. Her eyelids shimmered with some silvery powder, and her lips were blood red and somehow conveyed a permanent pout, begging to be kissed.

If this were a proper date, that is.

Dorothea had been kind enough to lend her a dress, too, though it felt far too formal for the occasion. It was all black, thank goodness, but the material was silky and iridescent, changing under the light from a deep violet to darker than the midnight sky.

She opened the door, and the reactions of the two men on the other side could not be more different: Rodrigue’s radiant smile returned, tinged with a bit of... amusement, perhaps? Dimitri, though, wore an expression that reminded her of when they had first sparred as a demonstration for the class, and he had ended up on his back in the dirt within seconds. It was a mixture of surprise, admiration, determination, and something else that she wished more than anything she knew the name of.

Rodrigue reached up and closed Dimitri’s slack jaw with a pop.

“If you react like that now, Your Highness, you are going to faint when you see her on your wedding day!”

That jolted Dimitri back to attention, and he rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“M-my apologies for staring, Prof– Miss Eisner. You look...” He seemed to sift through his entire vocabulary, but eventually ended with a somewhat anticlimactic, “...lovely.”

He wasn’t a practiced flirt like Yuri or Sylvain, but Dimitri’s awkward earnestness flattered her more than any flowery love poem ever could. His gaze felt heavy on her skin, and the blush overtaking his face and neck left no doubt that he liked what he saw.

Emotions were still a mystery to her sometimes, but she wasn't a fool. She'd been aware of her attraction to the prince for some time, but it was obvious now that it went much deeper than some passing crush. The heat of desire she felt surprised her with its intensity. She wanted his eyes to linger on her, wanted him to want her.

Dimitri offered his arm to her. He’d recovered his natural composure, a warm smile on his handsome face. “Shall we?” 

She rested her hand on his forearm, and he glanced down at her with a smile, the perfect facsimile of an affectionate fiance. Without a word, he reached out and covered her hand with his own, providing a silent reassurance, even though she hadn’t voiced her anxiety.

Their destination was in the small but bustling town outside of the monastery. Once they were seated at the restaurant– a place finer than anywhere she’d set foot in her entire life as a mercenary– Rodrigue pulled a bottle from his robes with a flourish.

“Compliments of Duke Ifan! She sends her congratulations as well.”

Dimitri seemed to grow paler at the mention of each new noble that knew of their supposed engagement. It was going to be a nightmare for him to clean up this mess, and Byleth felt terrible about it. Though it had technically been his idea, he had only offered out of obligation. Leaving her to fend for herself would have been unchivalrous. If only she possessed a sliver of social awareness, he wouldn’t be stuck in this awkward position.

She made a silent promise to herself to conduct herself with dignity during this charade. At least that would spare him from any additional humiliation on her behalf.

“How kind,” she said, taking the bottle. “Allow me.”

She poured a glass for both men, and Dimitri’s adoring look was so pure and open that she forgot for a moment that he wasn’t actually hers. She supposed a lifetime around nobles prepared him to be such a talented actor. It made her wonder what else he might be hiding under his polite facade. She had no such sensibilities, of course, never having had any emotions to hide.

Jeralt had never made time between swordplay and gambling lessons to teach her any etiquette, but she did remember him saying to always keep your guests’ glasses full. Unsure who would be considered host in this situation, she took it upon herself to refill Dimitri’s cup whenever he finished drinking. His appetite for food may have been small, but his consumption of liquor was quite substantial.

Well, he deserved to relax once in a while. And his crest probably gives him a high tolerance.

“This was Lambert’s favorite,” said Rodrigue, gazing contemplatively into the amber liquid swirling in his glass. “I’m sure you’re tired of hearing it, my boy, but you are so much like him.” Dimitri sniffed and did a terrible job of surreptitiously wiping his eyes, so she took his hand under the table. He stiffened at first, but then intertwined their fingers and squeezed back. “Your father was just as foolish in love as you are. He couldn’t be convinced to wait to propose until after graduation, either.”

Dimitri’s ears perked up like a Blaiddyd Rex at the mention of his parents. “He and Mother were still at the Academy when they became engaged?”

“Oh, yes. It was quite the juicy bit of gossip on campus at the time. Of course, even Lambert didn’t have the audacity to set his sights on his own professor!”

Dimitri clapped a hand over his eyes in embarrassment. “Ah, I suppose it does appear inappropriate. I apologize if it causes trouble in the capital.”

“Do not worry yourself over it, Your Highness. One year in the Academy is short when compared to a lifetime together. Any scandal will fade,” Rodrigue said, his smile turning sharp-edged like Sylvain’s did when he was dealing with his many admirers. He told Dimitri not to worry, but Byleth got the distinct feeling that there was indeed some cause for concern. The momentary glimpse of tension dissipated in an instant, and the older man moved to change the subject. “Oh! That reminds me. I didn’t come all this way to subject you to an old man’s nostalgia. I’ve brought something for you!”

Again, he reached into his cloak– on which Byleth saw no pockets, so she couldn’t figure out where he was conjuring things from– and produced a long, slim box.

Dimitri gasped. He held it on top of his open palms reverently, not daring to close his fingers lest he accidentally crush it, and offered it to Byleth. Whatever it was, it was valuable enough for a duke to transport it personally. So she took great care lifting off the lid.

Inside, on a pillow of blue velvet that already cost more than all her clothing combined, sat a sparkling pearl and sapphire choker necklace.

“This–” explained Rodrigue as she stared at the beautiful jewels, “is the engagement present of the royal family. Dimitri’s mother and stepmother wore this necklace, as well as many previous queens.”

The word queen hit her like a gauntlet to the face. This treasure wasn’t meant for her, an unworthy nobody that was only in this position because of Dimitri’s kind heart.

She backed away from the box and held up her hands in protest. “Dimitri, I can’t–”

But the prince was already gesturing to Rodrigue to secure it around her neck, not trusting his crest to handle something so precious.

The pearls lay cool against her skin, a relief from the heat that had been steadily creeping up her neck all night. It felt so much more intimate than a ring. This was wrapped snugly around her throat, marking her as Dimitri’s for everyone to see.

She jumped when Dimitri’s finger came up to stroke the necklace.

Despite her misgivings, he didn’t seem displeased– quite the opposite, in fact. The whiskey had loosened his normally ramrod straight body, a crooked grin taking up long-term residence on his face.

Still, just in case, she asked, “Are you sure this is all right?””

He chuckled in response. “Trust me, it is more than just all right,” he said. “I have imagined what you would look like wearing this for a long time.”

Dimitri’s performance as her adoring betrothed was getting a bit too convincing. Byleth’s heart was, dangerously, starting to believe his act.

And yet, she found herself playing along. Or maybe she was just indulging in the way his low voice and romantic words made her feel. She’d never have another chance like this, after all.

“You have?” she asked.

“Yes, even in Remire that night we met... A column of moonlight fell across your face, and I realized you had the perfect coloring for a queen of Faerghus.” He sighed wistfully, as if revisiting a cherished memory. “You look even more beautiful than my limited imagination could conjure, of course. A sapphire is merely a dull rock when set next to your eyes.” She had seen a darkness in Dimitri’s gaze when they met in Remire, and that same darkness eclipsed the icy blue of his irises as he ran a thumb over the large jewel sitting in the hollow of her throat. “I want everyone to see that you’re mine.”

Her face was almost painfully hot to the touch. Was this level of performance truly necessary to convince Rodrigue?

“Has Sylvain been giving you pickup lines?” she asked in an attempt to defuse the tension between them.

He actually pouted, her hint sailing straight over his head. “Do you think me insincere? The truth is, my muse is too lovely. No words exist that would do you justice.”

Dorothea had told her once about an opera in which a nobleman was said to have seduced over a thousand women during his life. At the time, Byleth had thought it a ridiculous premise. The idea of a noble ladies’ man brought to mind someone like Lorenz and his puffed-up, insincere flattery.

But now she realized the where the true danger laid. Someone like Dimitri, with his impassioned words and earnest face, could break the hearts of every girl in the Kingdom. Including her own, if she didn’t exercise more caution.

Byleth was abruptly reminded of Rodrigue’s existence when he gave a hearty laugh.

“Ah, yes. Every young man is a poet when he’s in love. You should see some of the things I wrote to my wife during our courtship. You wouldn’t believe an old fool like me capable of it.” He leaned in and winked. “I leave a few love letters lying around occasionally to embarrass Felix. Who knows, maybe it’ll give him some inspiration.”

She let out an unladylike snort. The only love letter Felix would be interested in would be engraved into the hilt of a sword. Of course, until recently she would have thought the same of Dimitri, so maybe anyone could have a secret romantic side. Perhaps even the Ashen Demon.

She poured the last dregs of the bottle into Dimitri’s glass. He grimaced, but tossed it back quickly. Her own serving had gone neglected this whole time. Jeralt’s drunken exploits had made her wary of indulging in alcohol. If she hadn’t always been sober enough to clean up his messes, who knows what other kinds of trouble he would have gotten himself into.

But just this once, she thought she deserved something to calm her jittery nerves. She took a sip and choked, causing both men to jump up in alarm. She waved them off.

“I’m fine. The drink is rather strong.”

“Well, we have to find some way to keep warm in Faerghus,” Rodrigue said good-naturedly.

She turned to Dimitri. “How are still on your feet after all you had?”

He winced. “To be perfectly honest, I don’t know if my feet will hold me when I try to stand.”

That didn’t seem like him. Dimitri was always so paranoid about losing control that he held himself back from everything. His drunkenness concerned her, even if it was a relief to see him so relaxed for once, free of the impossibly high standard he set for himself.

“Taking full advantage of the celebration, then?” she asked.

He chuckled. “Not exactly. But I was served by a lady. Not just any lady, but my betrothed. I would not be so ungentman– ungentility– so rude as to refuse.”

Her amusement was doused instantly, replaced by shame burning in her breast. He was being polite, and she, uncultured rube that she was, had over-served him to the point where the normally reserved prince was tripping over his words and making poetic speeches. His hangover tomorrow was bound to be dreadful, and she knew she was to blame.

“Come on,” she said gently. “I’ll help you get back.”

He tried to stand but immediately stumbled, practically face-planting right into her breasts. Embarrassed, he recoiled and then went tumbling the other way. She had to catch him around the waist, forcing her uncomfortably close to his chest. Rodrigue, in hysterics across the table, was no help. 

She managed to untangle their limbs and drape his arm over her shoulders, keeping a firm grip around his middle to stabilize him. Their first few steps were uncoordinated and nearly sent them tumbling to the ground. But after a bit of practice, they attained some semblance of balance. Which was a good thing, since Rodrigue had somehow melted into the night at some point, nowhere to be seen.

With a sinking feeling in her chest, she realized that getting Dimitri up the stairs to his quarters would be impossible on her own. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be too scandalized by waking up in her bedroom tomorrow morning.

Her back was aching by the time they passed through the gates of the monastery, but by some miracle, they finally made it to her room.

Her keys were in the impractically small clutch bag Dorothea loaned her. She released his waist, hovering nearby for a few seconds to make sure he wouldn’t topple over without her help. He instantly lurched forward, so she awkwardly leaned into his side to support him while she rummaged through her bag.

The stupid little purse had several fancy buttons that were chosen for design, not for ease of opening with one hand and a giant prince flopped over you. By the time she retrieved her keys, he was swaying dangerously, but they’d be inside soon enough.

She just needed to lean a tiiiny bit forward to unlock the door and–

The movement upset their already precarious balance, sending them flailing into the doorframe. Dimitri’s arms pinned her against the wood, and his heavy weight slumped against her, trapping her.

He was so close– too close. She could feel the warmth of him down the entire length of her body, and his breath puffed against her face. Rather than back up and apologize profusely like he would any other time, he leaned into their awkward position, nuzzling into her hair like a content cat.

“You always smell so good, Byleth.”

As if seeking the source of the scent he loved so much, his nose tucked into the crook of her neck. His lips ghosted along the choker, sending a series of shivers down her spine. Her body was in such turmoil that she barely registered that it was the first time he’d used her name.

“Um, thanks.”

“Perfect, every inch of you.” He sighed. “I hate that this blissful dream will have to come to an end someday.”

They weren’t in front of Rodrigue anymore, so there was no audience to perform for. Was it possible that it had never been an act in the first place?

Jeralt once said that you can see a man’s true nature when he’s drunk. (He probably thought he was the exception to that rule– when her father was drunk, he was a loud, brash bastard who didn’t pay his tabs.)

Was that why Dimitri had been so flirtatious? His words hinted that his feelings for her were sincere, and her heart swelled with a powerful longing. The excitement was quickly dampened when she reminded herself of the rest of what he said: it would have to come to an end.

But did it have to? Nobles had, until recently, been practically dueling for the honor of her hand. Lord Arundel was the regent of the Empire, even. She wasn't well-versed enough in politics to know if that was roughly equivalent to a prince, but it seemed promising.

“Must it end, Dimitri?” she asked tentatively. 

“I–”

He snapped up straight and broke out of her hold. It wasn’t clear what maneuver he was going for– it might have been kneeling at her feet or running away in fear. But what he actually accomplished was throwing himself off balance, teetering on one foot for a long, wide-eyed moment before tumbling backwards into the hedge that lined the walkway.

She sighed.

Crouching down, she extended her hand to him. Apparently, they had different interpretations of what an extended hand meant in this situation. She expected to help steady him until he could get his feet underneath him.

Dimitri, however, thought she was trying to communicate her ardent desire to join him in the shrubbery. And, gentleman that he was, he obliged, pulling her down right on top of him, into a bush that she now realized was some kind of bramble. 

Hopefully, the story of how her dress was ruined would amuse Dorothea enough that she wouldn’t insist on being reimbursed. Byleth had already spent half her salary on chamomile tea.

Dimitri seemed quite comfortable among the thorns, though, winding his arms around her to prevent her escape.

“Mmm,” he said, a pleased rumble in his chest. “Warm.”

“Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, don’t you dare fall asleep in this bush. Let's get up.”

“I don’t want to part from you,” he pouted.

“We’re not parting. We’re just going inside where it’s not so cold and…stabby.”

“I mean it, Byleth.” His gaze on her was intense, and focused despite how much he’d had to drink. “I don’t want to part from you, ever, no matter what they think. There is no one else I can… My strength is yours alone.”

Her mouth opened, but she couldn’t find the words. That was a confession, right? She was approximately 85% confident it was. 

How should she respond? Considering the state he was in, he may not even know what he was saying. Perhaps it would be best to wait until morning to have such a serious conversation, but he may not be as forthcoming then. Maybe she could just ask–

“Pssst, Professor,” he said, beckoning her closer with a wave of his hand, as if she weren’t already laying right on top of him. “I fell into a bush head first.”

“I’m aware,” she replied.

“You could even say I… face planted!”

He watched her with eyebrows raised, like he’d just given her a present and was anxious about how it would be received. 

She blinked. Then she snorted. “Well, thistle be a night to remember.”

Beneath her, his whole body shook with repressed laughter until it burst out of him in a howl that probably woke up half the monastery.

“Shhh!” she whispered urgently, casting her gaze around to see if anyone had seen them in this extremely compromising position.

But like a child ordered to be silent, the harder he tried to suppress his laughter, the harder it fought back, demanding to be released. Soon, he was practically in hysterics, repeating ‘thistle’ to himself in between dramatic wheezing cackles, tears running down his face.

And, also like children’s laughter, it was contagious. She made a valiant but doomed effort to keep her stern professor face intact, but she ended up giggling along with him until her belly spasmed with uncontrollable hiccups.

While the aftershocks of their giddiness faded away, he embraced her with one hand around her waist and the other cradling the back of her head, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It certainly felt like the most natural thing in the world.

She craned her neck up to see him and found him already gazing down at her with that look again. Her toes scrabbled hopelessly for purchase to push herself closer. When he noticed her struggle, he pulled her up his body until they were nearly face to face, his eyes locked onto hers.

“Byleth–”

She could kiss him. He was right there. She wanted it so badly she swore the rock in her chest came to life and started pounding. And there was no doubt he would kiss her back, not with the way his pupils dilated and his fingers fisted into her hair…

… But no. It was unfair to take advantage of him while he was in this state. He was swinging wildly between romantic declarations and plant puns. His decision-making skills were compromised.

And even if he cared for her, that didn't mean he wanted to act on those feelings. What if he regretted it in the morning, or resented her? There might be a lot unspoken between them, but their friendship was precious. The thought of losing it terrified her.

They could discuss it another time with clearer heads– if he even remembered any of this, that is.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” she said, focusing on a practical goal rather than her swirling thoughts. “You have to retake your paladin exam tomorrow.”

He groaned. “Is that really necessary? I’ve been riding since I could stand! I only failed the first time because I couldn’t take my eyes off you!”

It had struck her as strange when a natural born rider like Dimitri wandered off the training course. Knowing that she distracted him so thoroughly almost made her forget the two thousand gold for the advanced seal that went to waste.

But if he kept looking at her with that little pout, she was definitely going to kiss him. Stay focused, she admonished herself.

“It's been a long day,” she said. “We're both bushed.”

Okay, even Alois might roll his eyes at that one, but desperate times and all that… It was enough to distract Dimitri, at least.

It tested both her physical strength and her willpower, but she was finally able to haul him to his feet and into her room. Gingerly, she unbuckled his cape and sword belt, then removed his gauntlets and boots. It was… nice, to take care of him like this, knowing how he ran himself ragged with training and classwork.  

As she went to ready herself for bed, his hand snaked out from under the covers to clutch hers. Despite her attempts to break free, he held tight to her, whining in his sleep. She beat him in most of their spars using strategy and speed, but in a simple contest of strength, she had no hope of victory– even with him asleep, apparently.

She couldn’t help but smile at his adorable antics, but it was going to be tricky to lie down while trapped in this position. As much as was possible with her hand in his grasp, she stretched her body to its limits, nearly spanning the entire width of the small room. She hooked her ankle around the leg of a chair she used for tea times and dragged it towards her. The wood-on-wood creaking sounded like nails on a chalkboard, ear-splitting in the silence. But Dimitri remained undisturbed, his peaceful slumber punctuated by soft little snores.

She must have looked ridiculous twisting in his grip, like she was being twirled by a comatose dance partner. Repeating the absurd process all over again, she got the other chair over in the same way. Then she pushed them together and draped a blanket over them to make the world’s most pitiful bed for the night.

She laid down with her head bent to an uncomfortable angle at one end and her legs dangling off the other. And of course, her arm pulled to the side and clutched in Dimitri’s hands. Between that and dragging a six-foot bag of solid muscle all the way from town, her back was begging for a long sauna session tomorrow.

But if it meant Dimitri would get a good night’s sleep for once, she was willing to suffer the consequences.