Seteth obeyed Byleth’s command and departed the camp, though not without one last mope. As she came out to bid him farewell, the reluctance on his face was unmistakable. Equipping his wyvern for the relatively long journey back to Garreg Mach, he turned to her with a plea in his eyes.

“Are you absolutely certain I should not stay with you, Lady Byleth?”

“Yes,” was the firm response. Byleth had to be resolute. “I told you before that I need someone to sure up the monastery.”

He grumbled.

“But isn’t Alois doing that well enough already? I just feel–“

“Alois is doing a fine job as Captain of the Knights of Seiros,” she conceded before placing a hand on his shoulder. “But someone needs to ensure the wounded get back there safely. Sending you is the closest thing to returning there myself.”

“…And I suppose I can’t convince you to do just that?” Seteth pushed lightly. “I could stay here with the Church forces and Claude- that is, His Royal Highness to finish this campaign.”

Byleth shook her head.

The truth was that nothing short of news that Garreg Mach or the Royal Palace in Fhirdiad were under siege would convince Byleth to leave the camp now. 

These strange people who crawl in the shadows are after me: I won’t hide away, she told herself. Besides, no one can lead this army the way I do. 

Byleth was also not too proud to admit that Claude kept her firmly anchored to the frontlines. If she were to leave now, she wouldn’t see him again for the rest of the conflict. Though he might return to Garreg Mach with his forces once they had cleaned up the rest of the late Edelgard’s troublesome band, the end of combat would signal all and sundry to descend upon her at the monastery. Including Dimitri.

“What kind of successor would I be to Rhea were I not willing to put myself on the battlefield?” she posed.

Seteth narrowed his eyes. “Rhea knew when to allow others to fight for her. Perhaps you might consider this as one of those times?”

I will not, and nothing you can say will change my mind. 

Still, she humoured him.

“I will keep you informed,” Byleth promised. “Should the situation become dire, I promise I will withdraw to the monastery. However, I don’t think it will come to that. I would never send you away if I felt I couldn’t be without your help here…”

While Byleth hoped she wouldn’t need the rest of her Church armies, she had to keep them poised and ready. If she had miscalculated, then Seteth was the best person to lead her reserve forces.

Patting his shoulder one last time, she finished her thought, “There’s no one else I can count on. I trust you more than anyone.”

Seteth raised a curious eyebrow. “Anyone? Even the King?”

Byleth managed to smile at that. “Dimitri is peerless as a warrior… but to be perfectly honest, I find myself wavering regarding his strategies and tactics. I have no such reticences about you, Seteth.”

That was the truth. It not only helped that Seteth had a cooler head than her husband; he was guaranteed to do as she said. Although she could butt heads with him from time to time, Byleth took comfort in knowing that Seteth was a true confidant and safe pair of hands.

Dimitri’s reliability relied too much on his mood on any given day. He had listened like an obedient, well-trained puppy when he was but a seventeen- or eighteen-year-old student at the Officers Academy. He would complete every assignment, task and duty she gave him under her tutorship to perfection, on time and without complaint. But that sweet little puppy was gone. Edelgard and the Five Year War had seen to that. It had picked open the wounds in Dimitri’s soul, scars left by the Tragedy of Duscar that he freely admitted would never fully heal. Thus, at times, it was a ravenous wolf with whom Byleth had to contend. A lone wolf at that, who charged his enemy as though they were the last goat on the mountain.

But Seteth shook his head. “I wasn’t talking about our king, Your Grace.”

Byleth blinked.

“Then you were talking about—?”

“Claude, naturally,” he said, brow creased. “Unless you have some other king stashed away somewhere?”

“That’s hardly a fair comparison,” Byleth challenged. “You’re my right-hand man in the Church while Claude is… Well, he’s a monarch with his own kingdom and interests.”

“Indeed. Nevertheless, you have put a lot of faith in His Royal Highness’s schemes despite him being a foreign ruler.”

“I do, but…”

I need to watch my words. It wouldn’t be enough to point out that Claude, too, was an academy alumnus. 

For as well-behaved as Dimitri had (mostly) been, Claude had been the definition of a ‘troublemaker’: constantly breaking curfew, sticking his nose into places where it didn’t belong, challenging authority figures, asking too many challenging questions, and preferring to ‘interpret’ rules rather than following them. Byleth had never scolded him as much as Seteth would have liked; she had admired his gumption and ability to think outside the box. She still did.

Taking a moment to consider her response, Byleth knew exactly what Seteth would want to hear. 

“Well, perhaps that’s another reason why I feel I must stay — it’s the only way I can trust that the battle will go sufficiently considering our royal friend’s ‘schemes’. Whereas I know all will be well beneath your watchful eye.”

It seemed to work as a smirk finally broke across Seteth’s lips.

“I can tell you are trying to butter me up,” he charged lightly, though the smile remained. “However, I must admit to enjoying the compliment. Very well, regardless of my feelings – and whether the ones you just expressed to me are remotely truthful – I will obey your command. I shall make ready and leave at first light.”

“I’m grateful,” Byleth nodded, inwardly sighing in relief. “Look at it this way, too- you’ll get to see Flayn again that much sooner.”

“Yes, that is a bright side I cannot ignore also.” 

Later that morning, all of the remaining commanders had been due to meet for morning tea to run through the overall housekeeping of the camp: supplies, weapons, provisions and any known problems they needed to consider before beginning the ‘final’ march. 

It was a long and tedious task that Byleth was happy to leave to the Viceroy of Leicester, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester. If he liked one thing, it was organising everyone else’s life for them. Never mind that he really was the best person for the job. All Byleth’s other go-to “organisers” were indisposed: Gilbert (diligent and thorough) was retired; Annette (chaotic yet meticulous) was just weeks away from her due date; and Lorenz’s own wife, Hilda (a great lover of bossing people around and thorough), was at home with their infant. Then there was Seteth, who always wanted to control everything at all times to the annoyance of all, which is precisely why Byleth always tried to find other tasks to occupy his mind.

Like commanding the reserves back at Garreg Mach.

Byleth was prompt, arriving at the communal tent with her map and notes in hand. However, only Lorenz and Leonie were there. 

The former was talking the latter’s ear off about a letter he had received from Hilda that detailed the “unbelievably endearing thing” that Susie did the other day. She was an adorable baby, by all accounts. All the new babies were! Lorenz and Hilda’s Susannah, Sylvain and Ingrid’s Conor, and doubtless Annette and Felix’s first child would be lovable, too. It tugged warmly and painfully at Byleth’s chest. She was happy for them, but she coveted their joy.

Her eyes fell on Leonie. 

The huntress was usually happy to listen to updates about all of ‘the little ones, yet she looked agitated, not at Lorenz but something else.

“What’s wrong?” Byleth queried, placing her items down. “And where is everyone?”

“Didn’t you hear?” Leonie grumbled, fiddling with a bowstring. “His Majesty, Royal Excellency, or whatever Claude’s title is supposed to be these days, postponed the meeting until noon.”

Byleth’s brow creased. “I didn’t hear,” she said through a clenched jaw. Claude flippantly postponed the meeting without telling me?!

“Lousy, right? He just strolled in here, declared he was delaying the meeting and ran off before either of us could get a word in, which, considering Lorenz is here, is nothing short of a miracle!”

Lorenz nodded indignantly.

“Indeed, this is-” the Viceroy stopped, glaring at the red-head as he finally processed what she had said. “What were you implying with that previous comment, my dear Leonie?”

She ignored the question. “As if we didn’t have other stuff on this afternoon. Claude’s completely thrown off the schedule.”

“I’m sorry, both. I honestly didn’t know.”

What is he playing at?!

Lorenz groused, forgetting his earlier irritation at Leonie and channelling all his ire back at the absent Almyran monarch. “This really is typical of him, not to mention utterly disrespectful to you, Your Grace!” Then, with a heavy sigh, he shook his head, lamenting over the delicate china cup of lavender tea gripped between his fingers. “Ah, apologies, ladies. I am, shall we say, ‘overwrought’ at present. This morning I received a further letter from my wife. Hilda continues to send updates about our daughter almost daily, but I would like to witness some of her growth.”

Leonie patted his back sympathetically. “Aw, come on, Lorenz! Susie’s not even gonna remember any of this. She can’t even hold her own head up; you’ll be home long before she starts talking.”

“But what about everything before that? She is a paragon! The future of House Gloucester! This is a crucial time in her development… and I’m missing it!“

Byleth shook her head, not knowing what to say. This definitely seemed to be more paternal paranoia about missing his daughter’s “firsts” that upset Lorenz, rather than any concern that the ‘paragon’ would lose her lustre at a mere 9-weeks-of-age unless he were there to apply the ‘Gloucester polish’.

Either way, all this ‘baby talk’ was hard for Byleth to listen to.

“Let me look for Claude,” she grumbled, taking that as an excuse to leave. As she walked out, she bumped into Lysithea, whose eyes conveyed more meaning than words would have: When you find Claude, kill him for me, too!

Byleth turned heel to march off towards the ‘Almyran side’ of the camp, her irritation increasing with each step.

On the way over, Ashe noticed her and began trailing her. 

“I heard the news, Your Grace!” he panted, hurriedly trying to keep pace with her. “Would you like me to locate His Royal Highness in your stead? You can wait for him with the others in the—!”

“No,” she said curly. “Let me handle the king. Just make sure everyone is there at noon, on the dot.”

“Y-Yes, Lady Byleth.”

Ashe’s face cracked, looking sore that his suggestion was so swiftly shut down. Seeing that made Byleth stop in her tracks and scold herself in a voice that sounded like Sothis’s; Don’t snap at the poor boy- he’s only trying to help!

She turned to the steadfast young archer and placed a hand on his shoulder, hoping to cushion her words for him. “Can you ensure word gets around to the others about the delay? I will bring Claude- though I can’t promise he will be in one piece.”

Byleth was further aggravated when she arrived at Claude’s quarters to find him missing. Where the hell is he? Never mind that he had changed the morning schedule without telling her, he had now snuck off Goddess knows where–

“Has anyone ever told you how pretty you look when you’re angry, ashibanu-ahliah?” 

Byleth rolled her eyes, turning.

There, opposite the entrance to Claude’s quarters, stood Nader ‘The Undefeated’ with a small group of Almyran soldiers. Tall, burly and full of inexhaustible cheer, his scarred, craggy face was curled into a beam that only served to irritate Byleth more. 

“Though, I reckon you’d look even lovelier with a smile, my lady,” he added with a chuckle. He stopped, however, when Byleth’s expression remained stony-still, veiled with fury. “Ahem, pardon me, Your Grace. I assume you’re looking for the kiddo- um, for His Royal Highness?”

“I am.”

“Well, I’ll happily help you there. The King has gone with a couple of his guards to that lake. Err, what’s it called? Oh! Lake Afanc!”

He means ‘Lake Awen’.

“Why has he gone there? Was there an enemy sighting?” If so, why not tell me? “Did he go to… scope the surroundings?”

“Nah, to wash!”

With that, Byleth dumped off her notes, grabbed her sword and made for the thicket nearby. She could have sworn the burly wyvern rider bowed his head and muttered, “Nice knowing ya, kiddo, but this little lady is on the war-path!” as she left. 

After storming down the coppice trail long enough, she finally spotted the green-and-golden-clad sentries of Claude’s famous hazahran-pasban, the Royal Immortals Guard of Almyra.

She halted before them and folded her arms, eyes blank. 

“I wish to speak with your king.”

They looked at one another, perplexed.

“His Royal Highness is still…” one began, looking to his friend.

“Bathing,” the other finished.

They probably expected the Archbishop to blush and retreat with panic. They looked beyond bewildered when Byleth blinked and persisted.

“And I still need to speak to him.”

She must have been the image of the scary schoolmistress as the men seemed fidgety under her cold stare. 

The tension was only cut by an echoed, distant yell behind them: “Let her pass. I’m decent enough to receive the Archbishop.”

Unable to refuse their King’s command, the two men stepped aside, and Byleth smoothly past them without a word.

To their minds, receiving a woman of the cloth, head of the church and queen-consort to the reigning King of the lands they all stood in, “decent enough” would have meant breeches at the very least. But, of course, they were clueless that Claude’s idea of decency in front of Byleth had long passed the point of anything more than complete nakedness. 

Walking through a brush of trees and then a little further down the hillside, she found the almighty King of Almyra.

He washed his hair by the lakeside, wearing only his earring and a smile. 

Byleth almost forgot that she was here to reprimand him. Lust pooled in her loins, soaking her. Seeing his nakedness never failed to excite her, no matter what her mood. She had looked upon his form many times, but there were still plenty of angles she could appreciate him. 

Wetting her lips, she couldn’t help but admire the view:

Claude was incredibly handsome, toned and muscled, his moist skin looked almost golden from the sun’s reflection. His back and arms were broad, strengthened from a slew of countless arrows. (Byleth watched his muscles ripple as he flexed his shoulders, shaking droplets from his hair). His waist and hips were slim yet firm, and his legs well-formed and supple. Every inch of him was beautiful to her- and all she wanted was to kiss, lick and suck it all. 

He broke Byleth’s trance.

“Enjoying the scenery?” he teased, plainly entertained by her eyes roaming over his birthday garbs. 

“Aren’t you cold?”

It was late autumn, after all. Admittedly, the Red Wolf Moon was not quite as severe here in the south as it was in Faerghus or the Oghma Mountains, but even a Fódlan summer was comparatively chilly compared to the weather in Almyra. Their land was dry and harsh, with hot dunes or golden prairies heated by the cloudless sky and beating sun. 

“Do I look cold?” Claude’s eyebrows twitched mischievously. Byleth narrowed her eyes, refusing to look down and check, defiantly keeping eye contact. When she said nothing, he shrugged.”You get used to it after a while. Try taking a dip. You look rather tense, my stars-above.”

His smile was small, dark and knowing. It made Byleth want to squeeze her thighs together. No, don’t give him the satisfaction. So, she crossed her arms instead. 

“Ashe reported that the enemy fled this way, so why are you making yourself so vulnerable by washing in the lake?!” she snarled. 

“I have to get my kicks in life from somewhere.” 

At that, he slipped into the water.

Byleth watched as everything beneath his midriff was submerged. Then, as she drew breath to rebuke him, to shout, “Claude, you delayed an important meeting to do this!” he ducked under the water, emerging with a flourish of droplets- and she was momentarily mesmerised again.

“Besides,” Claude continued, acting as though he hadn’t noticed, though his grin said otherwise, “what better way to survey a landscape than breathing it, tasting it, living in it… and getting an idea of what it’s truly like by submerging myself in it?”

“So, you delayed our morning meeting to take a bath?”

“I thought it would be an insult if I were to present myself to Her Grace, the archbishop-queen, unkempt. Covered in dust and sweat from last night’s battle, not to mention my forbidden liaison with my dearest heart.” There was a twinkle in his eyes. “I knew you would chase after me when you found out where I was.” His velvety voice broke into a self-conscious snigger. “Giving you a nice look at my arse really was the least I could do.”

Sothis, but this man! Sucking her lip, Byleth shook her head in defeat. Sitting down on the bank, she began to remove her boots. Seeing as we’re here, you may as well dip your feet a while. 

“What am I going to do with you?” she mumbled.

“Oh, I can think of a few things…”

Still playing with me. Byleth hummed to herself, rolling her tongue, whetting teeth and lips. Well, two can play at this game.

She looked down at herself. 

Byleth’s fashion had changed after being obliged (read: forced) by Seteth to wear the Archbishop’s vestments. Fortunately, also being queen-consort permitted her to put her own twist on Rhea’s old robes. Byleth refused to wear the unflattering white dress, favouring a long, dark purple tunic instead with high-leg slits to permit unrestricted movement. She kept her corset, breastplate and choker with her medallion, a gift from Jeralt- a keepsake of her mother.

And she saved her tights. On that, she had insisted.

Byleth loved her delicate, floral high-stockings. They made her legs look pretty and complimented their shape. Choosing them had been innocent initially; one of the few things that made her feel valid during her mercenary days was dressing in a way that made her feel… cute. 

As she grew older, Byleth began noticing her clothing choice had an ‘interesting’ effect on people. Especially men. 

Including Claude. 

Claude liked her tights. They “did it” for him. He confessed that he found them sexy. He enjoyed their texture- and the fact he could touch her skin, even with them still on. During moments of intimacy, he liked to trace the contours of the lace with his tongue, teasing the skin beneath. Sometimes, he would ask her to keep them on, stroking and scratching the rough design as he rocked into her. Other times, he enjoyed seeing them come off altogether, undoing her suspenders before tugging them off with his teeth. And then there were times he liked to just lie back and observe as Byleth stripped off for him.

Leaning back on her hands, she began her revenge.

Let’s give him a show.

Byleth let out a pleasant groan as she flexed her legs kittenishly into the air. Then, slowly, deliberately, she unhooked her garter straps. Daring to glimpse Claude’s direction, she caught his barely contained leer, watching as the delicate material rolled off her creamy skin. First one, then the other. She might’ve forgotten they were in (what could be deemed) an unsecured location. Their enemies could be lurking, watching this suggestive exchange, and Claude’s pasban were just over the hill. What would they think if they found him unclad (and quarter-erect) as the Archbishop titillated him by exhibiting her legs?

Byleth pushed the thought out of her mind, slipping her feet into the waters. She found the brisk chill straightly pleasant. Claude is right about it not being too bad. 

It had been a skewed year weather-wise. The last of the summer might have been dying all around them, but it was a slow death. What should have had the bite of early winter had been uncommonly warm. The once-green leaves were still transitioning to orange and red, floating one by one to a watery grave in the lake…

“The water is quite nice,” she admitted. 

Byleth curled her finger to motion Claude over. He keenly obeyed, swift as a fish, looking up at her with barely contained arousal.

“It was quite heartless of you to postpone the meeting without a bye or leave,” she soughed, voice low.

“That was the goal.”

She frowned. “To upset me?”

“I felt it best to err on the side of caution, given how things have been the last few weeks.”

Referring to all that sex we’ve been having, Byleth thought candidly. Last night, Claude had appealed to her wantonness by recollecting their insatiable encounters. Their initial vow to abstain from intimacy upon leaving Garreg Mach was long, long forgotten. It died a death last month, right here in Miach Forest. 

“Lorenz said your actions showed disrespect.”

“Pretty sure Lorenz finds my very state of being disrespectful.”

“You know that’s not true.”

The now-Gloucesters had always been part of Claude’s “inner circle” in the Alliance. Hilda was a good friend to him at school, but Lorenz was the one who became Claude’s ‘truest’ friend. Yet, like many men, their relationship flipped from constant needling to a frank admission of respect and trust. Then again, Hilda and Lorenz occasionally joked that Claude felt like their “peculiar first child”, especially since Susie’s birth.

“I know, I know,” Claude chuckled, running his forefinger up her calf, tracing the fading marks her tights had left. “Teasing people is one of my worldly delights, and Lorenz makes it so easy.”

And Lysithea, Byleth thought. Ignatz, to some extent. However, since the aspiring artist had joined Claude in Almyra and fought as part of his “lashkar-al tilah’ahyial” during the succession war, their bond had become calmer and more subdued.

Byleth twiddled her toes playfully. “You certainly are a tease.”

“Hmmm, I sure hope so.” 

Gently, Claude teased the underside of her foot, making her jerk ticklishly. 

“Heh, so cute that,” he muttered as he began to massage it. “Who would imagine that unflappable, tranquil Teach is ticklish?” 

She made no answer aside from a hum, eyes fluttering, skin jumping in his firm yet gentle grip. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you and made you angry. But after the war tent, it seemed prudent-“

“Having sex in the war tent was your idea.”

“But doing it in the study was your idea,” he reminded her with a shameless smile. “That means it’s my turn to select a venue again, hmmm?” 

“If I’d left it up to you, we’d’ve been doing it over the damned map!” she hissed. “Your risk-taking will get us caught.”

He rejected that out of hand.

“I told you, I always take precautions to ensure we will not be discovered,” he whispered as he ran his tips along her arch. “Every moment we have is precious. Frankly, I seldom enter a room without having already investigated whether an opportunity for intimacy might be found there. Even for just one quick kiss.”

And Claude gave her foot a kiss as though to make a point.

“Point is, there was a method to my madness. I wanted to keep everyone guessing about how well we’re getting on. The best way to do that was to needlessly aggravate you, seemingly on a whim.”

Byleth observed him, eyes hooded by her lashes. “Well, congratulations, you ‘aggravated’ me.”

“Good. Now, let me make it up to you.”

Claude closed his mouth around her toe and sucked. Her breath hitched in her throat. Her senses somersaulted between frustration, ardour, and love; her crest-stoned heart and blood longed for him. The soft heat of his mouth starkly contrasted the chill of the lake and his hardened digits. 

It felt excellent. 

“Your fingertips are so rough.”

“Hm, but don’t you love that about them?”

“I do,” she professed, lifting her hips slightly at the thought of them. “You use them so well.” They were long, thick, calloused fingers, hardened from stringing many bows and countless arrows loosed. “They feel so good against my skin.” 

“Oh yeah?” He set another kiss upon her ankle, curling his tongue and fingers around its circumference. 

“I love watching you spin an arrow, notch your bow, twiddle your quill…” Biting her lip, Byleth couldn’t help but add, “But I like them best when they’re… inside me.”

Claude extinguished the guttural groan that tried to escape his windpipe. An Almyran curse – one she had heard grunted into her ear many times – sizzled past his lips. Now it was Byleth’s turn to smirk; the jolt of lust that shot through him had struck him so hard that she felt him quake. 

Taking a moment’s recovery, he dared to meet her eyes. “Is that so?” 

“Hm-hmm.” Byleth purred, a little arrogant about how much her admission wound him up. “When we can’t be together like this, I like to close my eyes and… think about how good it is to have them… knuckle deep…”

Claude’s Ask’s apple bobbed, swallowing the thirst she had incited. Byleth took in that sight, delighted in knowing that her words had undoubtedly conjured illicit images in his mind’s eye.

“Would you, ahem, like them,” he said, voice still a little strangled, “inside you right now?”

Her innards twisted as his free hand came to rest upon her upper thigh, provisionally creeping up towards her core.

But she laid her hand atop his own to stop its dangerous journey. “A little out in the open, don’t you think? It’s not like your guards are wearing earplugs.”

“Oh, thee of little faith!” He pointed to the other side of the lake. “See that grotto, By?” There beneath the shade of the weeping willows, Byleth spied a concave that looked like an entrance. “I noticed it earlier and was immediately drawn in by the… possibilities.” 

Hm. “Possibilities”. Byleth’s eyebrows arched. You were that sure I would storm out here to find you?

‘Probably’ was the answer.

“Pragmatically speaking,” Claude went on, “Further to our discussion last night, going on our cave-dweller theory, perhaps we’ll find evidence of the enemy there?”

She tilted her head at him. “And just how am I supposed to get across there without getting my garments soaked?”

Byleth didn’t particularly care if they were scuffed, but it didn’t seem fair on her nuns. Pansy, Malva, and Fern – nicknamed the ‘Flower Sisters’ despite having no blood relation – were hardworking women, but Byleth didn’t want to create needless chores by returning to camp in wet and ruined garbs.

“There’s a submerged causeway,” Claude assured her, hands resting on her hips. “So, we can cross without a boat or the need to swim. I’d still recommend you strip down to your undershirt, but fear not! I shall be a gentleman.” 

How disappointing! Byleth thought with a sarcastic scoff.

As if reading her mind, Claude used his grip to tug her a little closer to him, “A gentleman while we cross; after that, I’ll be utterly improper.” 

His caresses along her leg were hot and exciting- and utterly improper, considering they were still (potentially) in earshot of others.

“Claude, behave!” she sniped in a hushed tone. “And I can’t strip off my clothes when anyone could just come over that hill-!”

“Sure you can.”

“People might think-!”

“What, that we’re about to do something illicit?” 

His frankness added to her arousal, striking her silent. Then, dramatically he threw his head back, crying to the grey sky overhead. 

“Oh, stars-above, what a dilemma if ever there was one! I suppose we could take a leisurely stroll along the bank together if you’d prefer,” he offered, tracing the lake shore with one hand. It looked exhaustingly long, snaking around for some distance before curving towards the point they were aiming to ‘investigate’. “Though doing that might take a while, again delaying our noon tea party with the others. I, for one, wouldn’t mind since every second in your company is precious to me…”

He gave her big toe another lick with his tongue.

“It’s up to you and how desperate you are for your golden hart’s attention. How frantic you are to have my long, rough archer’s fingers pressed inside Your Grace’s most luscious and ‘plush’ person.”

Byleth was certain every part of her body had blushed red. He noticed, too, as his grin widened as he tickled her foot, lower leg, knee and then thigh with his index and thumb. She bit her lips, releasing them with a loud, salacious pop. 

“Very well. We shall take the causeway.” She immediately reached to undo the straps holding her breastplate in place. “Are you armed?”

“Naturally.” Claude indicated his folded clothes where a silver sword and Failnaught lay nearby.

“Bring both, and have your sword at the ready.” 

After all, there could legitimately be enemies creeping within. If so, they must be prepared to fight in close quarters. Never mind how prone they were about to be, with any luck. What a gift that would be to Edelgard’s former mages to find the Almyran King balls deep inside the Archbishop-Queen’s cunt? 

“We’ll need to ensure we’re alone before we do… anything.” If foes were lurking over there, Byleth was pent up enough to kill them with a single blow.

But Claude shook his head, smirking. “Don’t worry, I’ve already checked. That alcove is little more than a recess in the cliffside, no cave.” He let her foot go so she would get up. “But my guards – and the others – don’t need to know that.”

“We should still be armed,” she said resolutely. “Just in case.”

He gave her a firm nod, wading towards his weapons and clothes.

Standing on the bank, Byleth slipped off her plate and began to untangle the ties of her bodice before pausing. 

“Wait- just how deep is this causeway?”

If it went up to her upper chest, she agreed it would be worth removing everything but her undershirt.

“Hmm?” Claude stopped, hemmed and gazed beneath the waters, seeking out the cause. “Ah, here it is! About this deep.”

With that, he stepped up onto it. 

Byleth looked up; Claude had practically climbed out of the water completely, unveiling his naked body in all its glory. Unable to help herself, her eyes trailed the droplets trickling down his form. She traced one gluttonous glob as it travelled from Claude’s clavicle, through his sternum’s natural dip and the forest of dark hairs that lined it, all the way towards his waist, naval and pubic bone. Byleth didn’t stop herself from marvelling at his sex this time, steadily swelling; the cold of the water certainly hadn’t affected him.

The water level was just below his knees. 

So, just above mine. 

“If it’s that shallow, why do I need to strip to my underwear, Claude?”

“As a precaution, Your Grace.”

“Uh-huh? A ‘precaution’?”

“Too true.”

Claude walked the causeway back to shore as if the matter was closed. Once there, he wrapped a towel about himself. 

“A precaution for what?” Byleth pressed.

He pointed to the sky, alerting her to a dark set of clouds some way away. 

“Rain is coming, so you should take off your clothes to keep them dry. There are other considerations, too. What if you misstep, slip and fall into the river, getting dank pond grime all over your lovely vestments? Oh, what would Seteth say!? So you have to plan for these things.” Then, his eyes filled with renewed mischief, “And what if a dashingly handsome Almyran rogue rips the damned things off you in a fit of passion?”

“The Almyran rogue will control himself, or the Archbishop won’t go.”

Claude snorted. “Oh no! We wouldn’t want it to come to that, would we?”

As a compromise, Byleth removed the embellishments of her garb. Picking them up, she walked towards where Claude had lain his own items underneath a tall, bending willow. He quickly glanced at her visage and smirked, still covered by the towel and in no rush to dress. 

“What if someone sees our clothes but… not us?” Byleth asked.

Claude clicked his tongue. “Ever the cautious creature, aren’t you? The foliage will hide them. Besides, for all they know, we’re bathing at opposite ends of the lake.”

Byleth looked worriedly behind her. “I mean it, what if your guards see me with you-” she glanced down at his barely-covered modesty, “Like this?”

When their eyes met again, he still looked amused. “It’d undoubtedly give them fuel for their bedtime fantasies tonight.”

“Claude!”

Byleth was ashamed at how sulky he was making her. Though she wouldn’t admit it aloud, it wasn’t even about propriety- it was her desperate want.

Seeing that she was getting flustered, he dressed a little faster. “Fine, fine. Heaven forbid if someone were to come across us in this compromising situation and correctly interpret what’s going on. Here—!” 

He reached out to take the folded items from her arms. 

“This tree will provide plenty of shelter from the rain and hide them well.”

Byleth gave another wary glance up the hill. “Are you sure your guards-?”

“I’m sure,” he cut her off, anticipating her question. “I already told them I would investigate these surroundings after I bathed. So it’s not a far stretch I’d cajole you into coming with me. They’ll only come looking for me if I fail to return for the noon meeting. ‘Else, Count Lorenz Hellman Gloucester will have my eyes for a pair of earrings for his Countess,’ I told them. And my eyes are stunning, so Hilda’d probably wear them, too.”

Byleth allowed herself to smile.

“Leonie was annoyed, too,” she told him. “As was Lysithea. You single-handedly pissed off our closest allies.”

“Ah, well, in that case, Lysithia’ll burn me alive, or Leonie’ll take my perfect head for a trophy- that’d be a talking point for her father!” Claude quipped. 

“And your pasban will just accept that?”

“My head getting cut off for a hunting trophy? I’m certain there’d be a war!”

“I meant, will your guards really stay put that long? You’re their King!”

“Exactly,” Claude chimed with absolute confidence, but quickly his voice lowered back to a more cynical tone. “I’m their King; the ‘King of all Kings’ they call me. Xsahxsahran. Shahsharan. As much as I hate it, I have a reputation at home. Fair but vicious. Just as your ‘Saviour King’ husband didn’t win his throne by tickling Edelgard to death, I didn’t unite Almyra without putting arrows in any spahbad, marzpahn and siharai who disturbed my father’s peace or challenged his rule. Not to mention my brothers.” His jaw was stiff, bitter. “They wouldn’t bend, so I broke them.”

He had fought a bloody war, for sure, Byleth knew. Just as bloody as the one fought here. 

She had had the ‘pleasure’ of seeing the tail-end first-hand. Almyrans had large families, with multiple concubines prevalent among the elite. A man could keep as many women and have as many children as he could afford. 

Kings could afford a lot. 

Khalid had been the youngest of ten; eight brothers and one sister, he had once. Now Claude had none. He hadn’t been personally responsible for all their deaths, but Byleth knew the guilt weighed on him. She had seen the remorse with her own eyes when he had been forced to kill Mustafar, then Alaya.

Byleth’s palm rested upon his heart, feeling it thrumming away, stimulated by the memory of the war that won him his crown and ended a lifetime’s abuse and anxiety. 

Claude’s hand rested atop it.

“It wasn’t what I desired, but it was necessary,” he continued painfully. “I had to prove myself worthy as my father’s successor.”

She understood. Almyra was a massive, sprawling country with people of different beliefs, dialects and traditions, constantly bickering and in-fighting. It was not unlike Fódlan in that respect. However, the one thing that united that vast country was their admiration of strength- it was the only constant, and they had built a culture around it. 

Almyrans didn’t respect primogeniture. Blood meant very little in a land dominated by ‘right of conquest’ – a weak prince was a dead prince. 

Thus, once in a lifetime, House Arash – the ruling clan, Claude’s bloodline – will go to war to select the Shah among the sons. In doing so, a prince might seek to ally with or unite the other clans. If he succeeded, which he seldom did, he would be dubbed the Shahsharan, or xsahxsahran— the King of all Kings. 

Unfortunately, that title rarely outlived the man who earned it. Sometimes a mighty family might retain it for a few generations, though too often, it ended with the succession of an incompetent son. A cadet branch of House Arash would then challenge that son’s right to rule, toppling that branch. Then the cycle would begin anew, with more succession wars and bloodshed. 

Needless to say, a son of the King, called a shahsennu, was required to enter the world kicking and screaming with bloody murder to survive the cradle, let alone grow up to attain the title of Shahzad – Crown Prince – and succeed the throne. Then, once he had it, he had to be unassailably in command to keep it. 

A shahdoxtar, a daughter of the King, had it no better. Not when a tested and true method for an ambitious warlord seeking to undermine the current King was stealing said daughter for a wife. Sometimes an ambitious princess would even invite such attempts, making them more akin to “political elopements” than kidnappings. But, most of the time, these maids were loyal and faithful daughters forced to defend themselves against anyone whose intentions were revealed to be impure. To them, it was better to die fighting than suffer the humiliation of capture and imprisonment. It was no surprise that most daughters refused to marry at all and joined the dahna.

It was a struggle with which Byleth sympathised.

Claude kissed her then, lips dripping with affection yet sadness. “The bottom line is that most people know better than to get on the wrong side of me now, especially my pasban. Those that don’t tend to live very long. Another way in which we two are as one, I think, my stars-above.”

Byleth nodded. While no one had ever tried to ‘bride-nap’ her, her ‘strangeness’ invited a lot of unwanted attention from rival mercs, particularly men. They found her combat skill threatening, especially how it was paired with an attractive wrapper. It made her a compelling conquest. No man who ever challenged her on the battlefield had ever lived, not a single one. The first thing Jeralt taught her was how to kill.

Byleth looked up at the sky. The clouds were patchy with blue, white and grey… will it really reach us before we cross?

“It will rain,” Claude repeated again, tucking their clothes away to assure they’d stay dry. “It’ll be quick, brutal and very, very wet.”

They began their walk.

Sure enough, the sun ducked behind the clouds by the time they were quarter-way across the lake. Byleth felt the first drops hit the back of her neck. Soon the heavens opened, and the couple was drenched. Gasping at the rain’s assault, Byleth was startled when Claude threw one half of his towel over her head as he sheltered beneath tother. 

The downpour was unrelenting, but they did not speed up the pace. Rushing would only cause one or both of them to slip into the lake. So, Byleth grit her teeth and slowly walked the submerged path as gentle showers turned to heavy beatings. 

As they reached the bank where the grotto dwelt, the flash-storm started to lift, as though nature had wanted to drench them out of spite. 

Byleth threw Claude a miserable scowl, to which he chuckled. “What? I don’t control the weather. Blame ‘the Goddess’ or whatever.”

Hmph, Sothis couldn’t control the weather.

At last, the lake became shallower, and Byleth’s feet followed the causeway up to the shore. Upon her feet finding solid ground, she turned to face Claude.

He whistled suggestively, eyes squarely below her neck. 

Looking down, Byleth realised her soaked clothes had become translucent against her wet skin, leaving her tits on display and nothing to the imagination; her erect nipples were the cherries on the cake.

“Behave yourself!” she snapped back.

Byleth stubbornly folded her arms over her chest, ridiculous as it was. Claude had fondled, kissed, licked, sucked and fucked her breasts plenty of times. Nothing about them needed to be ‘left to the imagination’ as far as he was concerned.

But Claude’s response was tender, not teasing. “Don’t worry. You aren’t alone in your soaked dismay- I’m completely drenched, too,” he assured her softly. With a lamenting exhalation, he stared down at his undershirt, gripping his skin. “I might as well have stayed naked.”

Byleth turned her back to him. “This is the grotto?”

“‘Tis indeed.”

He moved to peel off his shirt.

“Not yet! We’re still in sight of the other side.”

“Actually…” Her skin leapt as he reached out to stroke a hand against her back. “No, we aren’t.” 

Turning to face him, Claude steadily backed her towards the lip of the cave. Looking over where they had come from, Byleth could see the trees covered them. 

“I think we’re fine,” he concluded.

Their weapons fell limply into the soft soil. 

Claude reached between her legs, nudging her thighs apart to rest his thumb flat against her undergarments to tease her clit beneath. He rolled his thumb back and forth, gently, purposefully. 

Byleth’s eyes fluttered closed, already feeling the first ebbs of pleasure. “S-Shouldn’t we check for the enemy first?”

“I already did.” His voice was distracted and gruff. “I told you I’m always looking for opportunities to be intimate with you.”

Her arm snaked around his neck. “Y’ know, Claude…?”

“Hm-mm?”

“When you get like this, I never quite know what to do with you.”

He laughed. “Oh yeah?” 

Holding Byleth by the small of her back with one hand, Claude’s fingers hooked into the seat of her panties with the other, exposing the pink flesh. 

An awe-full growl caught in his throat. “Gods, By! You’re so hot, soft… and very, very wet, aren’t you?”

As Claude pressed closer, so too did his thick and sturdy rod trapped inside his trousers. Unable to help herself, Byleth cupped the tenting, rubbing him at a pace to match how he was toying with her.

“And you’re very, very hard, aren’t you?” she parodying his intonation. She kissed and nipped the bare skin of his neck and collarbone. Then, she pushed aside the soaked shirt to descend upon his chest. “Let me fix that for you.”

She reached for the buttons of his trousers, wanting to use her own sword-calloused fingertips on his velvety cock. 

A tip-for-tap. 

But Claude stopped her, shaking his head. “Not now.”

Byleth pouted, annoyed to be rejected. Reducing Claude to a pliant mess was immensely satisfying. Listening to his groans as she rolled his thick member with her hand, tongue, or tits made her feel immensely powerful. 

Desirable. Wanted.

Claude kissed her frown away, spiralling his thumb against her little bundle of nerves. Ire forgotten, Byleth grasped his nape for support. “Oh, yes…!” she whispered, gyrating her hips against his touch. She felt him smile, mimicking her moans back at her. Ripples crept up on her, edging her towards release. “Don’t stop,” she begged. “J-Just keep doing that.” She encircled a quaking leg around Claude’s hip, desperate to leverage herself. 

Moments, seconds, a hair–

“Ooh!”

Byleth came. It was a tiny, prolonged orgasm, the trim twangs of goodness spreading from her clit to her folds and cunt. A deep, throaty grunt ripped from her lungs. She clawed at Claude’s scalp, threw her head back and arched her pelvis against him. 

He snickered, using the heel of his hand to keep her arousal high, winding the knot within her ever tighter and desperate to be filled. She tried to thank and praise him, but all coherent utterances failed her in favour of oversexed moans.

All she could do was hold him tighter.

“You sound so cute when you come,” Claude muttered, curling his tongue around the shell of her ear. 

Her core throbbed, and she reached for his poor, neglected dick. “I want to hear you come, too, Claude…”

“Soon,” he spoke with a strained laugh. “First…” He slid a pair of fingers inside her, testing her waters by opening them wide. “I want to feel you squeezed around my fingers that you love sooooo much-!”

Byleth felt him curve his digits upwards into her walls. “Yes-!“

“Hit the sweet spot already, have I?”

Oh, you have the sweet spot! And it was causing her to lose all presence of self. Byleth mewled, tilting her hips desperately, sinking him to the knuckles. 

Yes! cried Byleth’s senses, the word itself failing to reach her lips. Everything was falling away. The cave, the rustling leaves, the lapping lake, the light showers- all of it. Byleth world shrank smaller and smaller, consisting of just her and Claude. And his fingers. She could have been anywhere at that moment; Claude was the only thing keeping her anchored to reality in that cave or a million miles away. 

It never ceased to amaze Byleth when Claude’s onslaught reached this point. How can he possibly go faster, harder and more vigorous? She wanted to scratch the shirt upon his back to pieces and screech about how damned wonderful he felt. It was more than Byleth could handle. Alone, she usually found herself shying away from this precious place before she could ever reach it, as if Sothis were still with her and judging her. 

But Claude refused to relent until she reached the pinnacle and passed it. And she was arriving at that peak again, both pressure points stimulated, threatening to leave her in pieces.

This was toe–curling.

It nudged a memory from her lover.

“Do you really get off to my fingers?” Byleth couldn’t answer verbally; even a nod felt like too much effort. He grinned, “Oh, you do, don’t you?” And he looked at her, eyes black with lust. “Kiss me,” he demanded.

Byleth obliged, messily, clumsily, letting her tongue loosely coil around his as his fingers twisted against her g-spot. But then Claude began to slow his teasing to small strokes and delicate twists of his fingers before he carefully, almost hesitantly, removed his hand from her.

She screamed out in frustration.“Why are–!”

He was clumsily struggling to remove her underwear, and she realised what he wanted, what he needed.

Oh, yes!

Frantically, Byleth untangled herself from him and came to his aid. Then, slipping off her small clothes, she kicked them to one side and reached once again to unbutton his trousers; this time, he didn’t stop her. 

Peeling off their remaining wet clothes, they hugged each other, ready for the final act. Despite the roaring passion at Byleth’s centre, she welcomed the much slower kisses Claude placed against her skin.

At last, Claude hoisted her up, and she felt little more than a deadweight and a bundle of nerves in his arms. 

“I don’t think this will last long…” he confessed warily. That was probably why he’d rejected her offer to pleasure him earlier, Byleth realised. “I’m sorry-“

But Byleth shook her head with an “I don’t care,” begged him “hurry!” and pleaded for him to take her “quickly!” She needed him inside her. She was desperate that the build-up within her did not go out with a whimper. 

Her beseechments were replaced by a shrill shriek of delight when he finally pushed into her, claiming her.

Her relief was overwhelming. 

Wrapping herself around him, she held on for dear life as every inch of him filled the void in her cunt and brought her to intense release. It was close. She was close. So close.

He whispered with each purposeful movement.

“Come for me, By… come on… come on..!“

His words were like an arcane spell, and on the third appeal, her body obliged.

Smothering her groan against his mouth, she was swiftly undone by the third and fourth thrust. His fingers had already laid the groundwork; the rest of him finished her off. 

Another part of him that I love, she thought wryly. 

Her whole body clenched and stiffened, and she pressed against him to draw out the pleasure just that little more. 

Claude growled as she drained his release from him, too. He might not have lasted long… but Byleth could feel the tension in his muscles ebbing away with each weakening roll of his hips as he spilt inside her.

Gently, if not unsteadily, Byleth’s feet found the ground again, and her mouth found Claude’s lips. 

“You sure didn’t make that noise in your study!” he taunted breathily.

Cradled in his hold, Byleth closed her eyes to let the afterglow roll over her. “At least it didn’t rain in the study.”

“Hey,” he said, brushing green strands from her face. “Y’know what I just remembered today is?” She shook her head, though it was pressed firmly against his body, enjoying the hammering of his heart as if it were her own. Then, she felt him press a soft, wet kiss against her hairline. “A year ago today, we reunited. At the Foundation Day Eve celebrations in Fhirdiad, remember?”

Byleth opened her eyes. “Yes.” He was right. “It was today, wasn’t it?” She always got the Eve Dance and the Foundation Day Feast mixed up in my mind. Thinking about it, this year’s event would probably be a subdued affair. Either way, it was one year ago, that Claude returned. Still, he was right again. This time last year, she was probably getting ready for the dance that would take place that night, and Claude couldn’t have been further from her mind. Now, he was never far from it at all. She hadn’t seen him since the morning after they fought off the Imperial army in Derdriu when she and Dimitri had seen him off. The next time she saw him had been in Fhirdiad. Arriving unannounced, she still recalled the shock as she gazed across the vast hall to see him standing in the doorway. Handsome. Golden. Full of mysteries. Even though they had no idea who he really was, what he could potentially become, it had been exciting and unnerving to see Claude again. Back then, Byleth had been in denial about that tense sensation she felt whenever Claude was close, that emotion that shared so many hallmarks with ‘fear’: lust.

“Who’d have thought we’d be where we are now one year later?” Claude hummed salaciously, strong the small of her back. “Certainly, never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I’d be fucking you in a cave in the middle of the woods.”

She gave him a playful slap. “Behave.”

“Why?” he teased, pecking her lips, chin and cheeks, voice a gravelly growl. “Nobody’s here. It’s not often I can speak so frankly about fucking.”

“Stop!” She smiled and gave him another painless tap. “Stop stopstopstop!”

Claude laughed. “Okay, okay, it’s fine. I’ll stop.” He gave her another kiss. “Lovemaking is a much nicer term anyway.”

A delightful burn prickled Byleth’s veins, making her moan, compelling her to deepen their kiss. Whether fucking or lovemaking, she adored him so much!

Pity! If only you didn’t have to sneak around like this. 

That thought sent a quiver through her. It made her think of Sothis. Her voice. Byleth hadn’t heard her speak since they fused. Sometimes, she would think in Sothis’s voice – especially when telling herself off – but it wasn’t really her. She was gone. Seteth once confessed to her that, had her crest-heart been removed for a time, they might have been able to separate, though the likelihood of it killing Byleth was greater than it turning her back into a ‘regular’ woman.

Have I ever been ‘regular’, though? 

She couldn’t remember a time she had been, so to become so would be the actual abnormal. It was entirely too late at this point anyway. With each moment, the line between the old Goddess and the new blurred further and the memory of Sothis’s voice faded.

What would you think if you saw me right now? she wondered, hugging Claude tighter, focusing on his heart. Would you feel sorry for me or rebuke me for my actions? 

Claude placed a kiss on her crown. “Whatchya thinking about, Teach?”

His use of her old nickname snapped Byleth’s eyes open. 

“Sothis,” she straight away admitted.

Claude was one of the few people on Earth who knew what that meant, one of the only people she had ever told the truth. Even Dimitri didn’t know the full extent of Byleth’s ‘bond’ with the Goddess. He knew she had been blessed by Sothis, but not that she had lived in her body for twenty-one years prior.

Although taken a little aback, Claude laughed. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that response. That’s a bit like me saying I was thinking of my grandfather—!”

She gave him a playful tap to silence him. 

“Why’d you suddenly think of her?”

“I’m not sure. I think… I wondered what she would say if she could talk to me right now.” She pecked kisses along his jawline, his beard tickling her lips. “If she could see us like this.”

“Hmm,” Claude hummed, “Now there’s a thought.”

Their lips met for another few kisses before they separated their bodies with satisfied yet reluctant groans.

“Can’t say I’m sorry she isn’t around to bear witness to our lovemaking,” he began. “But, I’d say, from how you described her… She’d either reprimand our shamelessness or congratulate us for it, depending on her mood at the time.”

Byleth couldn’t help but smile. It was like he read her mind. Of course, he didn’t have the answer to her question any more than she did- but he had certainly got the measure of Sothis. A goddess she may have been, but she was terribly erratic. Haughty and judgmental one moment, whimsical and carefree the next.

Sothis would have liked Claude, Byleth believed. But she’d never have admitted it.

 “Y’know,” Claude continued, wrapping his arms around her neck. “Some gods in other cultures can be pretty capricious. They help the humans they deem ‘worthy’ but don’t hold themselves to an impossible standard. They certainly don’t follow the rules the temples and churches ascribe to us poor mortals.” He gave one of her breasts a playful squeeze. “They’re shameless voluptuaries that do whatever they want, damn what anyone else thinks.” 

“…How liberating.” If only we weren’t so bound, Byleth thought indulgently.

“Isn’t it? I’m not saying it’s a good way to live, but I’d probably respect the Church much more if they’d described the Goddess as she truly was.” He snuggled his nose against hers, kissing her again. “You make Sothis sound like an actual person.”

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