Midnight Machinations

They agreed that the army would be on the move soon, though who was doing what was still up in the air.

That would be Claude’s task tonight, and he resigned himself to the fact that he would likely be up until the wee hours of the morning ironing out the kinks of this plan. Eyeing the map as Byleth called the meeting to an end, he tried to envision how they could draw out the mages from the cave systems without giving up the bulk of the army’s position or losing the high ground. 

Whoever led the deceptive battalion would be putting themselves at risk, going down the narrow pathway through the valley and leaving themselves open to any enemies lurking above.

It will have to be someone experienced, he decided. Perhaps even myself.

Still, it wasn’t just a risky manœuvre for their ‘glorified bait’. Claude would need to consider the size of the battalion as well. Too small a party go unnoticed altogether while too large a party would be an easy target. Either way, it would be hard to make it look natural, to create a justifiable situation where they would believably move troops into such a vulnerable position. 

Any strategist worth their salt will see it’s a trap, he laboured, scowling at the offending road that snaked through the cliffs to the nearest village where Jeralt’s old mercenaries were. We already intended to use them so, maybe—?

He looked up, noticing the formation of his men.

It was ridiculous to their king’s eyes; before the Almyrans filed out, they all made a point to mimic the smooch Claude had left upon Byleth’s hand. Whether they were sharing in the joke or genuinely worried about disrespecting her, one-by-one, they lined up to kiss her knuckles Especially after Nader rounded up the stragglers who hadn’t got into the queue before bringing up the rear himself. 

After little Ozzie awkwardly kissed the holy knuckles, Sahm provided his clumsy offering.

“I not impolite as Glosscesster think!” he muttered as he turned away.

The young steward threw Lorenz a pout and Leonie a nod of camaraderie before vacating the tent.

After a few more dilly-dalliers, Byleth found herself face-to-face with the doughty form of Almyra’s foremost general. Taking her hand in a gentlemanly manner, utterly clashing with his outward appearance, Nader the Undefeated’s kiss was so chivalric it was worthy of any Faerghusian knight.

Claude lurked behind him, watching with suspicion.

“Thank you once again for hosting this meeting, Your Grace,” the older man said with a grin.

He chose a fairer timbre than usual, Claude noted. Nader had a gift for switching from casual to formal tones, from the koine-glótta to High Fódlean, as well as any number of the Almyran dialects that made up the members of Claude’s army and the ‘Low Fódlanish’ spoken by the outline villagers that made up the lower ranks of Byleth’s. He even boasted a little Mofisian, too — a surprisingly cosmopolitan man.

“It was a pleasure to have hosted you, Nader,” Byleth said distractedly, half-noticing Claude hovering over his shoulder.

“It’s a pleasure to be in your presence, my lady,” Nader continued blithely. “I swear you light up the day of every man in this camp just by standing there!”

“I am humbled that you think so.”

“No need for humility — I can see why His Royal Highness and Excellency thinks so highly of you. The Wise One’s flame burns so brightly in your heart.”

Byleth nodded with understanding.

The Wise One was the primordial god of the Almyran pantheon. Claude had explained his people’s god to her once when their pillow-talk had drifted onto a theological path. ‘He’ was sometimes called the ‘Wise Lord’, though when translated into the common tongue ‘It’ was a more apt pronoun since It had no defined shape, certainly not like the Goddess. The Wise One was ever-present throughout all-time, existing before creation of the world or a single star shone in the sky. It was the very spirit of humanity, the mysterious power of the lesser gods, and burned at the centre of all things.

“It sounds more like a… force of nature than a god,” had been Byleth’s curious response.

“That’s an apt way to describe ‘It’,” he had laughed.

Thinking about it, for Nader to have brazenly claimed the power of the Wise One existed within the avatar of the Goddess could be seen as disrespectful.

Good thing Byleth couldn’t care less.

It was endlessly ironic to him that a woman raised isolated from the church now held the title ‘archbishop’. Having Sothis inside her unbeating heart had killed the mystique of the Church and Goddess for Byleth. Rather than the unearthly beauty who watched benevolently from the Blue Sea Star, Sothis was confined to her reincarnation, lecturing her like an overbearing grandmother, though Byleth said she looked like a child no more than twelve. 

Poor Balthus had been so disappointed about that, and no one had the heart to tell Ignatz.

That aside, the Sothis of Byleth’s description seemed like a ‘good sport’ when it came to people’s quirks and would have been somewhat amused that the overly friendly Almyran had compared her Crest of Flames to the fravashi’atar itself.

Nader sighed wistfully.

“I swear if I were twenty years younger–“

“Will you cut it out, Nader?” Claude groaned, looming to one side with an exasperated frown.

The older man ignored him, a glint in his eyes:

“–I’d sling you over my shoulder and carry you back over Fódlan’s Throat before that husband of yours could even bat an eyelid!”

Byleth maintained unflinching stoniness on her face as she eyed Claude over Nader’s muscular shoulder. The Almyran king released an exasperated sigh, mouthed an ‘I’m sorry for…’ and indicated his old master-at-arms. 

She managed a faint smile.

“Aha, but, my apologies!” the older man carried on, clearing his throat. “That is a highly inappropriate comment to make about a woman of the cloth. Do forgive me! Master Claude, that is, His Royal Highness has been trying to clamp down on that sorta talk.”

“Has he?” Byleth queried, sounding surprised. “It’s not like you to care what people say, Claude.”

“Some of them were a little too below the belt, Your Grace,” he replied stiffly, not wanting to go over exactly how and why.

The last thing Claude wanted was to upset her – and she seemed to accept his answer, that it was perhaps better not to ask. 

Byleth had shown a fragile side of herself to him when she had told him of her struggles in conceiving a child. A precious Blaiddyd heir. Not even one who bore a crest — just a child of the blood. With Rufus dead, the line was weak. Fódlan had made strides towards giving power to the people; they would need a strong figurehead of undoubted Blaiddyd blood to avoid another war. Elective monarchies never lasted, after all. If Dimitri died without issue, they would have to fish through the family tree to find the closest relative on the female line to take on the Blaiddyd name.

Go back far enough, and they’ll eventually get to me, Claude thought amusedly. 

He was a distant relative on both the male and female line, after all. It was strange sometimes to remember that he and Dimitri were kin. House Riegan was founded as a cadet branch of House Blaiddyd and over the centuries then several daughters of the royal blood of Faerghus had married the then-Duke Riegan. Even the Crest of Blaiddyd cropped up now and then within the family tree — Claude’s own mother being one example.

Despite her belief their childlessness was her’ fault’, Claude encouraged her to take the tinctures he mixed for after their liaisons. “I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss the possibility that, well, that it isn’t you. So, humour me.”

He found his eyes drifting down to her waist now, contemplative. 

Could we make a child together?

The thought had crossed his mind several times. 

He slipped a hand into his pocket to clasp today’s vial, a sad sigh on his lips.

I guess we’ll never know.

“Well, your words have not offended me, my lord,” Byleth continued, turning back to Nader. “They’re amusing. It’s been a long time since any man attempted to ‘sling me’ over his shoulder and carry me off anywhere, let alone another country!”

To that, Nader laughed.

“Don’t tempt me, Your Grace!” he winked. “I was never one to pass up such a challenge.”

He left the conversation on that note as he turned to Claude, bowing his head. 

“Your Royal Highness, we should depart soon. We’re behind on getting the freshly recovered back in tip-top shape, and if you truly do intend to march soon, I recommend you oversee the training yourself. For the sake of morale, if nothing else.”

“Of course,” Claude agreed. “All and sundry know how much my men ‘adore’ me.”

More like they don’t want to get on the wrong side of me. 

For a good reason, too. One did not earn the title of ‘xsahxsahran’ for giving second or third chances. Claude had afforded a single opportunity during the War of Succession to bend the knee and join his fight for unity. He had also promised that if they ever caused discord in his xasahrate again, they would receive a quick and clean death by shamshir; nothing more or less, and no second chances. They knew he meant it, too: several khans in the far east had already met such a fate.

“Very well, go on ahead and get them ready. I wish to share a few words with the archbishop before I leave.” A pause. “Private words.”

Nader rolled his eyes.

“Sure ya do,” he muttered.

He offered Byleth one last bob of the head before he strode out of the tent with a grace that seemed uncharacteristic for his form.

Finally, they were alone.

“I think he said all those things just to rile me up,” Claude said without much thought.

His words startled Byleth, her head snapping to look at him so quickly she winced. “Does he know about us?!” 

That was a good question.

“Let’s talk about this in the study,” he answered, indicating the nearby partition behind which they had enjoyed one another last night.

Softly, Byleth followed.

His jaw remained tight until she had placed the partition back across, concealing them.

“In short, I don’t know,” he confessed. “Maybe he knows for certain, suspects the truth or is just trying to wind me up. It’s not clear.”

Claude ran a hand through his hair, shrugging uncertainly.

“Nader’s subtlety is virtually non-existent. I don’t know what to do when he’s like this. Usually, he’d lecture me–“

“Lecture you?”

“Well, not in the way Lorenz or Ingrid do where they make you want to leap out a window rather than endure. But he does have that way of showing disappointment without raising his voice. A bit like Seteth.”

She folded her arms, not exactly brimming with confidence. “You know, I didn’t just send Seteth away because I needed him back at Garreg Mach.

“Hm? I figured it was because he was driving you insane with his desire to control everything around you,” he tried to joke. 

“Yes,” Byleth nodded. “He was trying to control everything around me. More so than usual.”

She didn’t have to say anymore. Claude knew what she was implying — Seteth suspected or outright knew they were having an affair.

“Has he said anything to you…?”

“No, but he doesn’t need to. Seteth’s not as subtle as he thinks. What about Nader? Has he said anything?”

“Oh, a lot,” he admitted. 

Slowly, he closed the gap between them. 

“I don’t know for certain if he knows about us… but one thing he does know is how I feel about you. It seems for all my attempts to keep my smile steady and my feelings masked, I can’t hide how much I adore you from someone who’s known me as long as he has,” he chuckled with resignation. 

Byleth blinked. “Has he guessed my feelings in all of this?”

“I don’t think he has quite as good a read on you.” He took her by the forearm to pull her against him. “Not many people do.”

He pressed a long, soft kiss atop her crown. Her skin so warm that his heart fluttered. Byleth wrapped her arms around his neck, taking a deep breath against his chest. Yet when they parted her brow twisted in concern and her hands fell upon his shoulders, rubbing them gently.

“You feel tense.”

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

She circled from his front to his back.

“Is something wrong?” Byleth asked.

Had Nader got to him that much? Was he anticipating the tactical task at hand? Byleth had promised to assist him, but he felt a sense of foreboding about the idea, one that he couldn’t quite put his finger on yet. Or perhaps, possibly, feasibly, having sex standing up without proper support had not been the best idea, no matter how good it felt at the time.

“Nope,” he finally croaked out, a little higher pitched than intended. “Just the weight of the world on my shoulders and all.”

“Hmph.”

Claude flinched a little as she pressed her hands upon a tender point, though it was a pleasant ache. It made him think of the many other times she had dug just her fingertips into his bare flesh or heels into the small of his back. 

Always ‘kneading’ me. 

“Careful, my stars-above. Someone might walk in on us.”

“I’m rubbing your shoulders!” she retorted immediately. “I’ve done this for Seteth–“

“Is that so, should I be jealous?”

“Hush! For Leonie and Ingrid, too,” she continued. “I used to do it for my father, and others in our company. I’d happily do it for anyone who needed it. Even Nader if he asked nicely—!”

Claude thought of his earlier conversation with his old master-at-arms. “Dear Lord, don’t let him hear you say that. You’d never get rid of him!”

“My point is,” she whispered so close into his ear it made him tremble. “I’d offer to do this for you, even if we weren’t lovers.”

“Oh?”

Byleth hummed in response.

He reached behind him, his hand naturally resting upon the small of her back.

“On the other hand that,” she continued, pressing a little into his touch, “would warrant a slap in other circumstances.”

“What if I want you to slap me?” he snickered devilishly. 

“You’d want me to hurt you?”

She didn’t sound too surprised.

“Well, you know what I like…”

There certainly had been times where their love-play had got a little frisky. When he had her pinned beneath him, utterly engulfed by pleasure, the scores she left upon his back were strangely stimulating. He encouraged her to nibble, bite or even choke his neck a little. Not always, never too hard, but sometimes it helped ground him.

He shifted his hand to cup her rump to squeeze her. Her breath hitched, and fingers dug deeper into the cord of his shoulder. 

“For that, I would have had your hand. Good luck notching an arrow after that!”

“Thank the gods I live in the reality that doesn’t result in severed limbs, then. Besides, I’m not suggesting you break my jaw. Just y’know, a little smack?” 

He winked. 

“I know you appreciate that.”

He gave her a little spank.

A small delighted squeak escaped her lips before the light scold of, “Claude!” and the ‘light slap’ he was seeking upon his cheek followed. The light prickling of his skin felt invigorating, even with her mouth pressing kisses into the thick cloth of his garbs. 

I wish it were my bare skin! 

Earlier was still lucid in his mind. That position had been tricky and may have knotted his back, but he would never complain, not after hearing that incredible screech that had erupted from Byleth’s lungs. It had been so intense, raw, positively bestial. Remembering it was making him hard.

He wanted her again.

For a moment, he wondered if she would let him throw her onto the same sheets as last night’s tussle, or hoist her up onto the map-table for a quickie, like the night before last.

Probably not right now.

Instead, he gave her another spanking.

Claude found himself spinning around to face her and engulfed in a kiss that was long and deep. The stiffness in his britches pushed against her provoked an enthralled gulp in between the meeting of their lips.

“Feeling better?” she asked huskily.

“Hm, much,” he laughed back. “Though this better not be part of your regular ‘massage deal’, my stars-above. I’ll get jealous if it is.”

“Only you get this privilege,” Byleth promised, capturing his bottom lip as she pressed against his arousal. 

Only me.

Even as he coaxed her mouth open with his tongue, the usual thoughts came to him. What about that husband of yours? Yet he would never have said it aloud and spoil the moment. He wasn’t an idiot. Dimitri wasn’t even part of the equation in Byleth’s mind right now, but he was never far from Claude’s.

If only that weren’t the case. 

If only you were mine and mine alone, not just as a lover but my wife and queen. 

If only we had infinite time together. 

If only: the constant mantra of his brain.

After a long pause, he gripped her elbows to better look at her.

“Before I go, we’d best agree on when and where we will devise our scheme, my stars-above. You promised to help and…” He lowered his lips to graze the soft skin of her neck. “I don’t think I can wait much longer than tonight to be with you again.”

“Given the number of knots in your back, I figured you’d be all… tuckered out.”

“Ha, perish the thought!”

I’m only twenty-six for gods’ sake!

Despite being younger than her, Claude had overtaken her in physical age now. In the last eight years or so, Byleth hadn’t aged a day. Sure, her hair was longer, but she was otherwise frozen in time as a twenty-one-year-old—the same as when he’d first laid eyes on her that day in Remire Village. Claude, on the other hand, was hitting his quarter-life crisis having pulled a muscle during sex and was now too proud to admit it, despite her having all but guessed.

“If anything, I’m more raring to go than before,” Claude concluded.

“You’re insatiable; you know that?”

“You know you can just tell me to stop if you don’t want to.” 

He closed his mouth over her pulse as it hammered faster and faster, making her moan. The breath that escaped her chest was intoxicating, as was the sensation of her fingers twirling through his hair. 

“I’d be with you always if I could be,” she trilled.

That sincere confession made him convulse with want, the satisfaction of hearing her say it aloud was palpable to him. As though his love flowed through him as steadily as the blood through his veins.

Her hand gripped the front of his tunic.

“Will you take tea in my quarters tonight?”

His eyes snapped open.

“Regular tea or… ‘tea’?”

Clarification was necessary: ‘taking tea’ was swiftly becoming their code for ‘frantic, unabashed lovemaking’ after all.

She gazed up at him, a glint in her eyes. “Both, if you’re thirsty enough.”

He coughed back a laugh before he processed the tail-end of her invitation. “This evening in your quarters?”

She nodded.

Since the campaign began, Claude had taken regular tea in Byleth’s tent several times but always during daylight and often with Seteth standing watch. It had undoubtedly given him renewed respect for Flayn as the most he had managed to do was hold Byleth’s hand, hidden beneath the veil of the tablecloth. 

Hopefully, she’s managed to get her end away with Ignatz before we cruelly sent Seteth home.

Even with Scowls-a-lot gone, there would still be plenty of Church of Seiros monks, nuns and guards milling around.

“Are you… sure that’s wise?” Claude finally asked.

“Are you saying no?”

The look she gave him then was so sultry that the promise of a night with her outweighed every legitimate concern he had about such a daring venture. 

He tilted his head in interest. 

“I have to admit, the thought of having you in your bed is… too good to pass up.”

They had been lovers for a while now but sharing a bed had always been difficult to arrange. They had done it, but not for a bit and never in the camp. Actually, the last time had occurred when—

No time for nostalgia, Claude scolded himself. He had to consider the logistics of this. A feint and a romp. Both his body and mind would be working overtime tonight.

“But how are we to spend tonight together and not raise eyebrows?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve ‘schemed’ your way into my bed.”

“There’s a difference between that and… this, By.”

Sneaking into her chambers at Garreg Mach or getting her into his was a piece of cake once they had worked out which secret passage went where. Before that, he had flown Jamilah up to the star terrace to ‘take tea’ with the archbishop. Now, the war tent was the one place in the entire camp where they had ‘just cause’ to request time alone to discuss super-secret plans and strategies. Thus, it was the usual venue for their liaisons.

“I’m not saying no, my stars. I’m not–it’s just… Well, what will we tell your guard?”

He noticed another glimmer in her eyes. 

“As it happens, the man on duty tonight is an old friend.”

“Friend?”

“Do you recall that overenthusiastic gatekeeper from Garreg Mach?”

“Not Mr’ Greetings, nothing to report!’ himself?” Claude said, mimicking the tone impeccably. “I’m not sure about that particular guard protecting you, my stars-above. I wouldn’t trust him to defend his own shadow, let alone you! An enemy could sneak passed him with the bare minimum of deception.”

She shook her head, beaming.

“That’s the point — I picked him specifically for his… gullibleness.”

Claude cocked an eyebrow.

“A rather risky play if the enemy attacks tonight.”

“I am my own guard,” Byleth assured him. “Besides, I’ll have my crafty Almyran king to protect me, too, won’t I?” 

She leaned in closer, breath warm against his temple.

“Unless…” she continued, voice susurrate, “the mighty mind of the gatekeeper of Garreg Mach is too sharp even for you, so-called ‘Master Tactician’?”

Byleth was being flippant, he knew, but his chest swelled at the provocation.

Very well, I’ll play this game.

“Is that a challenge?” he growled back into her ear. “You think a smart, charming and charismatic genius such as myself would have problems masterminding my own ‘subterfuge’ to get passed that fool and reap the rewards of your bed?” 

His teeth caught her lobe. 

“Believe me. I’ll not disappoint you.”

He moved in to kiss her again — but Byleth placed a hand over his mouth. 

“I’m off. You have men to train, and I have duties to tend to.”

“Wah!” Claude whinged childishly, jokily, into her palm before kissing it, for lack of her lips.

“Wipe that look off your face!” she reprimanded him gently. “I am the archbishop, lest you forget. Circumstances as they are I have been neglecting my ‘sacred duty’ to my’ flock’ so I have plenty of… ‘shepherding’ to catch up on.”

They both chuckled. Byleth’s Rhea-impression could use some work but still, it made Claude smile.

“Hopefully,” Byleth sighed, slowly walking towards the exit and back into the outside world. “You will meet my challenge, and I will see you tonight.”

Knowing that fool gatekeeper would be there had put his mind at rest somewhat. Still, he would need to be careful that word of this ‘meeting’ didn’t lend way to gossip about the nature of their relationship. Especially now there were new faces in the camp, brought in by Nera. Of all the schemes he had to hand, Claude decided that there was one he could use at such short notice.

I hope I have the ingredients. 

After the tragedy of Remire Village, Claude could sense a disturbance in Byleth’s character. 

The days following the event had taken the wind out of her. There she was, a woman renowned for being an emotionless husk utterly weighed down by the disaster. The deaths of the villagers were plaguing her. 

Maybe it was the first time she watched acquaintances who were civilians die, or her heart really did beat.

Of course, she has a heartbeat, he had decided. She was just joking when she said it didn’t. Probably. Has to be. That’s the only reasonable explanation.

It was a night shortly after that he finally found the courage to seek her out. He found her in the Blue Lion’s form-room, sitting upon the windowsill and staring out at the dusk as it left the world to darkness, all alone but for a pair of candles burning low near her desk.

Her expression was nostalgic, with a hint of sorrow.

In short, she looked like she could use a drink.

The creak of the door as he closed it against the winter winds gained her attention, eyes widening very slightly when she saw him. 

“Claude?”

“Evening, Teach,” he replied as chipperly as possible. He hoped the slight break in his voice went unnoticed as he made his approach.

“Did you need something?”

“Nope, I just came to see how you were.”

Byleth blinked, one of the few ways surprise registered on the stony-faced maiden.

“I’m fine.”

“Really? You look sad to me.”

“Do I?”

“You do.”

He took a step closer, into the light, keeping his right arm firmly behind his back. Byleth’s eyes instinctively focused on it, watching him cautiously. 

“What do you–?” she began.

“Here,” Claude then revealed the wine bottle he had been secreting behind his back. “I often find this helps after a particularly gruesome battle.”

Byleth’s eyes widened.

“Where did you even get that?”

“Knights’ quarters” he replied, smiling impishly, “… so, don’t expect it to be ‘the good stuff’.”

“You shouldn’t steal.”

“I borrowed it. I’ll put it back when we’re done with it.”

She blinked.

“I hope you haven’t been sharing it with the younger students.”

“Of course not,” he assured her, pulling the cork out. “It’s just for us adults.”

“You’re barely an adult, Claude.” She was kind enough not to scoff as she said it.

“Nah-uh,” he jokily pouted back.

To that, she managed a brief smile.

At least she still has her sense of humour.

“You’re not that much older than me,” he added defensively, handing her the bottle. “Do you have any cups?”

Byleth slipped off the windowsill, nodding. “I really shouldn’t be condoning this, though.”

“I won’t tell Seteth if you don’t.”

“Fortunately, he’s too busy scrutinising Manuela to bother with me.”

He watched as she leaned down to open a cupboard under her desk. Inside, he noticed several simple cups and a robust ale.

“Huh, do you usually drink on the job?”

Byleth’s head popped out, shocked. “I wouldn’t dream of it! This is my dad’s.”

She set out the two cups.

“I’ll be mother,” Claude declared, pouring it out. “But yeah, I hear Jeralt likes his drink—”

“I would never drink before taking a class!” Byleth stated, unprompted and defensive. Too defensive, some might say.

My Teach doth protest too much methinks.

It was almost as if she was channelling Manuela. That, or there had been an occasion where said the senior professor had somehow twisted her junior colleague’s arm into taking the tiniest sip of something during lunch. 

Not that I’d blame her; anyone would need a drink listening to Manuela’s latest heartbreak for the umpteenth time.

He didn’t push it any further.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry I ever implied it.”

She sniffed, “Good.”

They each took a cup and clanked them together without a word.

It was a sour red. A part of Claude longed for the rich, almost spicy vintages of the south-west of the Alliance or the wines found back home in Almyra. They were much more pleasant to discuss intrigue or gossip over than the local wines that were grown at the base of the Oghma Mountains. 

This will have to do, though.

After the first sip, Claude placed the clay mug down, along with his metaphorical cards, on the table.

“Now, I might be presuming too much,” he began slowly, “but I figured you’d be feeling a little down given what happened in Remire.”

Her posture stiffened, her expression sombre. Everyone knew that Teach didn’t cry, but the pain oozed off of her. It was remarkable how one so restrained could be so expressive with her body.

Quickly, she turned to look out the window.

Avoiding my eyes.

“It was awful, but I have seen much worse, Claude.”

“So?” he shrugged. “That doesn’t mean this can’t shake you. And you, Teach, are shook.”

Byleth tilted her head.

“I don’t think anyone has ever told me I look ‘shook’ before. I’m not even sure what it’s supposed to look like.”

A half-smile cracked her lips, breaking into a tale in that calm, matter-of-fact tone of his.

“Even before I was deemed old enough to fight in my father’s company, I’d watched him serve justice in the name of this lord or that countless times. It’s strange, Claude. I’d thought I’d seen the worst of humanity. From petty theft to brutal bandits. Robbery, rape and murder. The first man I ever killed promised he’d do all of those things to me, in that order, so I stabbed him in the belly with my dirk. That was the day my career began. I was about eleven or twelve. I think.”

Claude grimaced. Teach had never said so much in one go, and it was so raw! “That sounds–!”

“Horrific,” she finished for him, sipping the wine again. “There’s no other way to describe it.”

Such things were every day in Almyra too. Although the spahbad, marzpahn and siharai were supposed to be sworn to his father, they always fought among themselves. The previous shah, Claude’s grandfather, had done all he could to reign them in, but as he grew older, his influence dwindled until his father seized the throne. Until he ascended the throne, Claude had defended his father’s rule when most sons would have taken advantage of it. Like my brothers did. Yet Claude was not blind to his old man’s failures; the further afield the mamlakha was, the harder it was for his parents to reign in the unruly rulers. They were laws unto themselves. Ravaging settlements, slaughtering men, ravishing women and forcing axes into the hands of the children to become warriors in place of those lost, before moving on. The life cycle of an Almyran — no wonder Cyril didn’t remember it fondly.

I’ll change that, Claude told himself. If he wished to see his dream of a land without borders, then putting all of Fódlan together wouldn’t be enough. He would have to return to Almyra and bring them to heel, too. I will ‘nag’ my homeland into my new world kicking and screaming if I have to.

Byleth swirled the wine in her cup.

“I always thought of Remire as a place safe from all of that.”

“Did you grow-up in Remire, Teach?”

“I didn’t grow-up anywhere, really,” she explained, taking a deep drink. “But Remire was the closest thing to ‘home’, for sure. It was where we returned to in-between jobs. When I was a child, my father would leave me there if he had a mission too dangerous to take me on. We had a house there with a bright yellow door. Every time I saw it, I knew we would be resting for a while.”

Claude remembered that house.

“It seemed like such a serene place,” she continued. “So, when I saw the villagers – people I knew all my life – ripping each other apart, I…”

Her mouth clamped shut, never finishing her thought.

“I… figured it had to be something like that,” Claude muttered, taking another drink. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“No, I know, but I’m still sorry that you’re hurting. It must be hard to process all of this while having to keep a steady face for the lion cubs, huh?”

Byleth smiled sadly, seeming to like how he had termed her class as ‘cubs’. “True.”

“I have spent a lot of time cultivating the perfect poker face to keep in such emotions. I think you always try hard to do the same, but it takes one insightful mind to see into another’s. With you, it feels like the gusto has gone from your voice.”

“Gusto?” Byleth bleated, ostensibly amused. “My voice has been described in many ways, and having ‘gusto’ isn’t one of them.”

“Well, yeah, most of the time, your intonation is pretty… cool,” Claude acknowledged. There was a strange duality about Teach’s voice, being eerily calming to the ears yet matter-of-factly cold in inflexion. Except when she was instructing her students. “When you’re directing the battlefield or teaching a seminar, you seem to ‘come to life.'”

“Is that so?”

“It is.” Then followed a coy smile as he added, “You’ve become pretty expressive, y’know.”

“My father told me the same thing recently.”

“Well, he would know better than anyone. I often wish I could bask in the wonderful cadence of your instruction more often. If only you were the form-teacher for the Golden Deer. I could revel in it daily.”

With a sigh, Byleth picked up the wine bottle again for a top-up. 

“If only, indeed,” she muttered under her breath. 

Claude wouldn’t have heard her were his ears not honed to whispers. For a moment, he dared to hope that there was an ounce of regret that she hadn’t picked his house to teach. She had picked him after they had seen off those bandits, but Claude knew with Dimitri and Edelgard circling her like starving vultures, she probably said the last thing she remembered. Still, he had been confident she would prefer his crew over Dimitri’s and unquestionably Edelgard’s. It bugged him that he didn’t know why she chose the Blue Lions over the Golden Deer.

Maybe one day I’ll ask her but now isn’t the time.

“Hm, this is quite nice considering,” Byleth said, shaking the bottle.

“A good, strong house red can take the edge off even the most stressful days, my friend.”

She blinked.

“Friend?”

“Sorry, is that too brazen of me? Too informal?”

“You address me as ‘Teach’,” Byleth replied bluntly. “I expect brazenness and informality from you.”

“Does it bug you?”

“Not at all. I wish more of my students would speak so freely.”

“Yet ‘friend’ irks you?”

“It doesn’t irk me,” Byleth assured him. “I’m just surprised you would address me as such.”

“Why?”

“You don’t seem like the type to count your friends.”

He didn’t know what to say to that.

Claude never had many friends growing up – always relying on himself. When he called someone “friend”, he usually meant “acquaintance” at best. There were only a handful of people he could truly call “friend”; calling Teach a friend was probably wishful thinking on his part.

He was starting to feel nervous, growing more conscious of the feelings that had spurred him to come to her this evening in the first place. That day in the classroom, a few months back now, when he finally realised what desire was. Since then, it had been hard to even look at her without feeling that burst of passion again. 

Then, the aching regret that he couldn’t be closer to her. 

If it weren’t so inappropriate, he would try to be more than friends with her. He wondered how she would react if he were to flirt with her, or flat out try to seduce her. 

Dream on! I wouldn’t have the first clue what I’m doing.

He was nothing more than a clumsy virgin with too much lip, and he knew it. But he couldn’t help approach her, hoping to see a spark of something for him in her eyes also. Something that promised his daft fantasies was not in vain.

The only person who saw straight through him was Yuri.

“Nursing a crush on the teacher, are we?”

“I dunno, are ‘we’?”

“Well, I wouldn’t kick her outta bed. I doubt Edelgard or Dimitri would, either.”

Claude must have winced ever so slightly, as Yuri refused to drop the subject.

“Desire is easy to satiate; love is not,” he continued. “Word of advice, you can wait until you’ve graduated to tell her. She probably won’t have you while you’re a student. But don’t keep it in forever.”

“Not sure what you’re getting at there, ‘friend’.”

His senior chuckled.

“You’re adorable. And quick. Easily my favourite of the three house leaders this year, not that you have much competition, mind. I can see you’re a late bloomer when it comes to these things, which is fair enough. You were probably too busy avoiding murder plots as a ‘shahsennu’ of Almyra and the rampant racism against ‘ahmixtan’ to care about getting your dick wet, right?”

Claude was more startled that Yuri knew who he was than his correct assumption that he’d never had sex. It had been weird enough hearing the High Almyran terms cross that guy’s lips without having his identity thrown in his face. 

Keeping his smile straight had been very, very difficult.

“Well, aren’t you the linguist?”

“Still denying it, huh?”

“I’m neither confirming nor denying anything. Keeps things interesting.”

“Sure kid.”

Claude was still trying to work out how Yuri had managed to deduce his origin; the Mockingbird imparted his last pearl of wisdom, one the Golden Deer remembered best.

“Tell her before it’s too late. If there is one person with less experience with love than you, it’s our pretty Professor.”

Claude pushed the memory out of his mind as Byleth spoke again.

“I’m sorry. That came out wrong,” she muttered guiltily, taking another sip. “I never had friends growing up. At best, there were people in the company who didn’t avoid me as a rule. So, I’m probably just projecting.”

Cautiously, he looked to her again.

“No, you surmised correctly,” Claude admitted, a little sadly. “There are very few I can genuinely count among my friends. Even my own house see me more as the ‘leader’ or, in Lorenz’s case, ‘a pest’, than a buddy. I swear if he weren’t such a nice guy, I’d call him a rude jerk. That aside–my entire life people treated me like an outsider. An oddity.”

“Hm-hm, I can relate to that.”

“I…” he couldn’t help but smile. Genuinely. “I figured you would.”

Byleth nodded.

“I’ve always found it hard to express myself,” she confessed, twirling the cup. “So, people treated me differently. It’s changed since I came here. I’ve not consciously tried to be more emotional or expressive or to talk more; it’s just sorta awoken in me.”

She placed her hand on her heart. A brief pause later, as if considering a thought, she smiled.

“Quite literally, in a way.”

Claude’s eyes stared on her hand.

“Say Teach,” he began curiously. She looked at him, her blue eyes warmer than once they seemed. “You know that thing you told me before. You were just joking, right?”

“Thing?”

“About… your heart.”

She blinked, then remembered.

“Oh! I see, is it that you want to check?”

If his cheeks hadn’t been pink before, they indeed were now. 

“Ha-Hahaha, well, that probably wouldn’t be very appropriate, would it?”

Byleth stared at him as if she didn’t understand, hand still firmly placed in the valley of her chest. “Wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah, I mean, well, y’know—” he spluttered.

Claude shifted his weight from one foot to another, desperately trying not to stare at her breasts. 

Dear gods, they’re fantastic! Even before the heartbeat question came up, he had wondered what they looked liked, whether they were as bouncy, pillowy and soft as his fantasies during his ‘alone times’ imagined them— Dear Lord, brain stop! Stopstopstopstop, please stop!

He decided the only safe place to look at her was dead in the eyes, so his gaze rose, pleading for mercy, only to see she was smirking. 

A cold-burning sensation passed through him.

Is she teasing me? 

Funnily enough, that thought made him feel calmer.

He found his voice again.

“I mean, I could take your pulse, instead?”

“Oh, I have a pulse,” Byleth replied earnestly. “Just no heartbeat.”

Claude cocked an eyebrow. “That’s impossible. You can’t have a pulse but no heartbeat. The whole point of a heart is to push blood through your arteries. Literally! That’s what causes pulses!”

“Yet here I am.”

“You’re messing with me, right?”

She picked up the cup of wine again, hiding her smile behind the rim.

“I promise you I’m not.”

Come the witching hour, when most had retired to their tents and extinguished their lamps, Claude made his approach. It was very late, yet he could see the dim light of candles still burning within Byleth’s tent. 

He could imagine her now: waiting for him in bed, probably trying to keep her mind ticking over by reading a book, marking time until his arrival. Damp with anticipation. It made him shiver.

He had chosen two pasban to accompany him – one who had served his family since the reign of his father, the other Leicesterian born who had left with him when they bent the knee to Dimitri – and for a particular purpose. Two noticeable Almyran guards might look strange lurking around the Kingdom-Church side of the camp, one Almyran and one Fódlean was less so. These days, at least.

Sure enough, the dear old Gatekeeper of Garreg Mach stood outside Byleth’s quarters.

Upon seeing Claude, he greeted him enthusiastically.

“Greetings, Claude!” he began earnestly, before making an anxious back-peddle. “Oh, pardon me! I mean, Your Royal Highness. Nothing to report.”

“Greetings, old friend!” Claude replied, copying the chirpy tone. “Chill in the air tonight, no?”

“Indeed there is,” the gatekeeper agreed. “I’m surprised that Your Royal Highness would wander the camp after dark.”

“On the contrary, I prefer to take my walks around this hour,” the king assured him. He took a deep breath of the cool night breeze before continuing. “The silent stars above, the lull of the slowly dying torches about me, the camp so quiet you could hear a pin drop. It fills me with a sense of peace, I find. Don’t you think? Oh, where are my manners? You must be thirsty. Here, sip my skin–” 

Claude handed him the waterskin and waited for the gatekeeper to take a drink.

“Hm, it’s sweet,” the watchman hummed.

“A zest of citrus fruit is almost the only thing that makes water that bit more refreshing, don’t you think?”

“It… certainly adds a kick to it.”

“Indeed! Do you know what else adds that ‘kick’ to it?”

“Um…wha-wha–?” the gatekeeper’s responses were swiftly becoming slurred. “Wha-what’s that, Claude?”

He didn’t even have the presence of mind to correct himself this time.

Claude placed a hand on the gatekeeper’s shoulder. “Why, the highly concentrated blend of valerian root and passiflora! Honestly, if you don’t have the constitution, it’ll knock you riiiiight…” As if his words had been black magic, the gatekeeper slowly slipped to the ground and into a drug-induced slumber. “And just like that, he’s gone.”

He turned to his two guards, tone unnervingly serious.

“This is troublesome,” Claude told them firmly, brow creased with resolve. “The security around Archbishop Byleth is clearly lacking. To fall to such trickery, to fail such a simple test! It’s beyond worrisome for our alliance, wouldn’t you say? Imagine if I had been an enemy with ill-intentions towards the queen!”

There were no words spoken by the guardsmen, merely a nod of acknowledgement.

“I must raise this matter with Her Grace immediately, here—”

He produced two sets of earplugs from his sleeve.

“Out of respect for the queen, I ask that you put these in until I emerge again. Though I trust you with my safety, the conservations between the archbishop and myself should remain confidential.”

Finally, he turned to enter the tent before leaving one last order.

“Stay out here and ensure we are not disturbed. Given the severity of this situation, we might be a while. At least until this fellow…” he indicated the unconscious gatekeeper, “Is back on his feet. He should wake in approximately fifty minutes—no longer than an hour. Hopefully.”

With the poor gatekeeper’s weak constitution, it probably would be a while before he got up, which suited Claude perfectly.

Still, he called it fifty minutes before he would have to activate the second part of his ploy. He wanted to hold Byleth and pretend for a moment there was no Dimitri.

He sighed and stepped inside. 

“Your Grace?” he called out. His guards might have earplugs, but he wanted to keep up the pretence at least as long as it would take them to put them in. “Please, do not be alarmed. It is I, Claude. I fear we might have an issue with the lax security there is around you.”

A pause.

“Is that… so? Do tell!”

She sounded delighted.

Claude took that as an invitation to proceed.

The Fódleans had indeed gone out of their way to make this glorified tent look as roomy as possible. He walked through the reception area where her treasured tea set – a gift from another student – sat on the table alongside a small map of Fódlan and various notes on the surrounding terrain. He moved towards an ornate partition, one designed for a lady’s boudoir. Pushing it aside, he found himself in the archbishop’s ‘chambers’. 

There, he spotted Byleth’s silhouette behind a set of sheer curtains. The nearer he got, the more certainly he could sense the amusement oozing off of her. With his index finger, Claude delicately pulled the smooth material aside to find her lying on her back, her face covered by a book as if to stifle laughter. 

Not that Byleth laughed often. 

Smiling despite himself, he gently removed the leather-bound ‘face-mask’; a smirk plastered across her mouth as she looked up at him.

“Quite a performance!”

“You didn’t exactly give me much time to prepare,” he sighed again, closing the book and putting it to one side. “I had to come up with all of this on the fly. Instead of giggling like a naughty little girl, you should be praising my industry!”

Sitting up, she crawled over to him.

“You drugged my poor gatekeeper!” she said accusatorily.

“Testing your security,” he countered with faux concern. “At least, that’s what I told my guard and what we’ll tell the patrol if he doesn’t wake up before they pass by. Honestly though, By! Security around you is a joke if he’s one of the best you’ve got.”

“He isn’t, though. That was the point, Claude. Remember?”

Byleth’s fingers dabbled upon his sash, promising to untie it immediately.

“Still,” he stressed, managing a smile. “He fell for ‘Plan A’ hook, line and sinker! I didn’t even have to touch on ‘Plan B’.”

Rather than asking him what ‘Plan B’ would have been, her hands hesitated over the knot they were promising to untie. With a glance behind him to the distant yet visible entrance to her quarters, she bit her lip. 

“I’m not sure how I feel with your guards standing outside, Claude.”

He rolled his eyes, turning to move the partition back. Then he took Byleth’s hands to peck each with a light, playful kiss. 

“Well, what else would you have me do, my sweet-star? Order everyone on this side of the camp to stick their fingers in their ears and go to the other side so we can shag in peace?” he quibbled facetiously. “I gave them earplugs for buxtâr’s sake!”

At that, Byleth kissed his hands in return. “I can’t believe you gave them earplugs!”

“Didn’t you complain about them not having some before?”

“Maybe in jest…?”

“Well, I thought it’d be fun to work it into a plot.”

Her lips parted as if she were a parched woman, and he the first cup of water she had seen all day. What made it better was that it had been his cleverness that provoked it.

“Only you could take someone’s daft, throwaway comment said in jest and work it into a scheme,” she uttered softly.

He cupped her cheek.

“‘Plan B’ was talking Sir Reportless into putting them in, too. After flattering him about not drinking poison from another man’s skin, I would have remarked upon how such a diligent man was perfect for standing guard as I discussed intrigue with his beloved archbishop. Pity he fell so quickly for my first ploy, I would have enjoyed doing this despite him being conscious.”

His thumb ran over her lips.

“Just imagine him twiddling his thumbs out there…” he leaned down to whisper into her ear, “…while we’re fucking in here.”

Byleth quivered, almost certainly imagining it. He hoped that wicked thought made the throb between her legs just a bit stronger, and her keener to have him relieve it.

She finally untied his sash. 

A mark of approval.

He placed his knee on her bed to steady himself as he disrobed while she lingered before him, waiting. She had such a sweet, deceptively innocent look in her eyes as she brushed the garland of his belt against her lips.

“Ah!” Claude bleated, pulling out the after-vial he had brewed for her from his pocket. “For tomorrow–well, later this morning now.”

Byleth watched as he placed it on the table, saying nothing. She knew what it was for by now.

The jacket came off. 

Next, he perched on the edge of her bed to pull off his boots. She snared his neck with her arms, burying her face to trail kisses to his ear, where she promptly began to nibble him.

“Ouch,” he said half-heartedly.

She muttered a “hurry then” into his ear.

It made him want to tease her even more, to let her know just how much thought he put into her little ‘test’ as if he were still a student, and she was his Teach. 

“Slow down, my stars. I know you’re keen for your Golden Deer’s attention, but he hasn’t finished telling you how clever he’s been yet.”

Byleth’s eyes darkened with purpose. She reached for the hem of his undershirt to pull it over his head and off.

“Getting in here was only half the ‘test’,” she said firmly. “You have yet to submit to the… second section of the exam.”

“Oh, well,” he purred amusedly. “I want that perfect score… so I better not disappoint you.”

Softly, they kissed again.

Despite the hunger that had brought them together at this moment, it was a tender embrace. As Byleth pulled him down onto the bed, his tongue dipped gently into her mouth as his hand roamed slowly down her body. 

“Hm? This is nice…” he muttered, pausing to appreciate her garbs. It was a seashell-coloured nightdress, silk to touch, and lacy in all the best places. He squeezed one of her barely-concealed breasts in approval. “I don’t suppose you’d thank me for ripping this, would you?”

“Absolutely not!” she chuckled before giving him another kiss. Eyes darting behind him again, she asked one last time, “Promise they won’t peek?”

It never ceased to amuse Claude how paranoid she was about this. The truth was that while there was some level of dignity expected of him, even if every single one of his Almyran Royal Guard knew that he was routinely having sex with another king’s queen-consort, they wouldn’t care. She was the wife of a man who was nothing to them and archbishop of a religion they didn’t follow. 

“They won’t look nor talk even if they suspect. Trust me. Men have lost their tongues for less in Almyra.”

He stared into her liquid green eyes as he reached lower, lower, and to between her legs. 

“Already excited?”

Byleth moaned softly. “Your report was just that thrilling.”

“Is that so?” Finding the sensitive point he wanted, his thumb started to rub. Gently, gently, then a little faster as Byleth began to rock in time with the motion. He could feel ripples of pleasure coursing through her, making her knees shake and thighs quiver.

Pressing a tentative finger into her core, Byleth squeaked in approval.

“Happy to have my fingers again so soon again?”

Her eyes rolled in annoyance and euphoria. 

“Will I—ah! ever live that down?”

Hiking up her skirt, Claude squeezed in another finger. 

“Never.” He pecked her lips quickly, continuing his assault. “Tell me again how much you love them.”

“Ugh! I love— agh! “

“Come on, By. Tell me.” His wrist was aching, but Lord, it was worth it to see her coming undone. “You like how calloused they aren’t, right?”

She pounded a fist against the mattress. “Claude! You—drive me—ah! —don’t stop! I’m almost… ah!“

“Almost there, huh? I’ve barely started with you.”

“Claude…!” she whimpered, so fragile and weak.

Byleth arched against his hand, shoving her balled knuckles against her mouth to suppress the high, throaty screech trying to escape her body.

Admiring the shaking mess before him, Claude chuckled in surprise. He had got her off very quickly, much faster than he had expected. Once her body settled a little, he began again. Switching hands, his thumb settled on her clit, and his fingers drove back in.

Three slipped in easily now.

Her response was another moan, which he mimicked back at her, like an illicit call and response.

“You do love my fingers, don’t you, stars-above? They love you too.”

She took a shaky breath, finally finding her words.

“They feel wonderful,” and her eyes opened, gazing up at him hazily,  “but I want…” she reached up, playfully, slowly, purposefully tracing the hair on his jawline, “…a more substantial part of you now.” 

Her unoccupied hand swiftly reached down towards his waistline.

“Every inch of it.” 

Claude swallowed a growl as Byleth cupped and rubbed him with the same softness he had shown her earlier.

“It seems you need my attention too, don’t you?” she noted, a throbbing lilt in her voice.

Sitting up, she immediately fidgeted to undo and pull down his trousers. A task he was all too happy for her to complete. He was already straining for her. A dark, eager beast ready for her. And from the ease she had taken his fingers, she was one-hundred-and-ten per cent prepared for him too.

His whole body leapt with anticipation as her eyes fell upon his bare organ, and she smirked.

“I didn’t get to do this earlier,” Byleth declared, eyes set upon his burgeoning erection. “You distracted me.”

“Distracted you how–?” 

Her small, delicate palms took him in hand, and she tenderly placed a kiss upon him.

Oh! Oh!

“By…” he whispered, in a tone akin to a prayer. After that, he belonged to the moment. The warmth of Byleth’s tongue curled about him, from head to base to balls, was tantalising. He marvelled at the debauchery; the archbishop was blessing the dreadful heathen; the goddess debased before the lowly human. 

How could I forget how good she is at this?

He gripped her hair, twirling the shimmering green locks about his fingers. 

Then, she took as much of him as she could into her mouth — and his whole body lurched forward so fast and frantically, she choked on his cock, and he on her name.

“—leth!”

His loins lurched. He might have succumbed there and then. A selfish part of him wanted Byleth to suck him until he came, shamefully into her throat. But the desperation in Byleth’s eyes was burned into Claude’s mind. The lover within him wished only to please her. To see the light flash behind her eyes again, and again, and again until she couldn’t take it anymore.

Capturing her shoulders, he pulled her off, the graze of her teeth upon his skin a pleasant sting. He didn’t need to ask if she was ready as she yanked him down to reclaim his lips.

Holding her hips, he began to settle between her legs.

“Wait, no, stop!” 

Byleth pushed him back barely an inch, but Claude leapt even further away, hands up and face bewildered, as though she had smacked him.

“Wh-what’s wrong? Do you… not want to—?”

“No, I do!” she quickly assured him. “It’s just…”

“What?”

“Well, I thought this time you could be on your back?”

…Oh!

He obeyed keenly, allowing her to roll him over. Immediately she clambered atop him, perched astride his waist. Secret liaisons tendered to favour a fair amount of ferocity and stamina out of him, so it was rare that he had a chance to take a more ‘passive’ position. 

With a kiss, they slipped together as perfectly sword and sheaf. The relieved sounds that escaped their mouths were like for like. 

Eyes screwed shut; he couldn’t think of anything but how amazingly she fit around him.

“We wouldn’t want you to strain yourself again,” Byleth said suddenly, index finger tracing the small of his chest.

He opened his eyes, pouting.

“Don’t make me retake the high ground!”

Giggles were rare as unicorns for Byleth, but one bubbled from her chest as she began to move. They were shallow and indulgent, testing the waters for the sweet-spot deep inside her.

She leaned down to trail her lips along his collarbone and chest. Over the lovebites that she had given him in the cave. He hoped she would suck and bite at his skin again, so he could keep reminding himself that this was real. They were together, truly mated at that moment—she closed her teeth around his nipple, a goddess answering his prayers.

Claude had to chuckle at that.

“What’s funny?” Byleth asked between the kisses she laid upon the fresh abuse of his flesh.

“I was just thinking about how gods must be real.”

That was when Byleth began to move keenly… and gods, it was good.

The wordless moans penetrated the air around them. Claude held onto her tightly, finally able to meet her with the fluidity he wanted. Though he was under her, he liked seeing her unravel at the sharp snaps of his hips. Her hands moved from his shoulders to his chest, giving her a better anchor as she rolled her body back and forth, faster and more desperate. 

Their skin was slick with sweat as he reached for the hem of her nightdress, peeling it off to reveal her full nakedness to him.

Though she had her eyes closed, Claude’s were wide open, fixated on the growing frenzy in her movements and the bounce of her breasts. He couldn’t resist reaching up to clasp them as best he could. 

So soft, so ample, and deliciously large in my palms.

He nudged her forward, enclosing one of her nipples with the same gentle care she had shown his member. It provoked a delighted chuckle from Byleth, always a beautiful sound from one so reserved and quiet. 

Then, he felt her squeeze herself around him.

He threw his head back, a hiss escaping through his teeth. “Gods, I love it when you do that!” 

She mumbled something unintelligible in response, clamping herself about him again. His hands found her haunches, driving her on faster, dragging her tightness over his enveloped cock. 

“Stars, By! You drive me mad when you do this.”

Watching her face, he knew she was getting close. The cot creaked and groaned sinfully around them as their lovemaking found its tempo. 

Byleth was struggling to keep her enjoyment of him quiet. “You feel so good, too,” she whimpered, seeming barely aware she was even talking. “Nothing–Nothing feels as good as this–as good as–you… how do you–agh!”

Her back bowed, and she threw her head back, gritting her teeth as she ground herself against him in tiny little movements, riding out her orgasm.

Claude took a deep breath, maintaining control. He was still very much hard inside her, torn between throwing her down and pounding into her until he came, or asking what the end of that sentence was. 

‘How do I…’ what? 

As always, curiosity won out. Claude’s fingers shook as they breezed through her hair.

“How do I ‘what’, By?”

She opened her eyes, and she kissed his wrist, body settling down.

For a moment, he wondered if she even remembered what she was about to say.

To his surprise, another giggle escaped her chest. Leaning down, she kissed him so passionately and determinedly it could have borne a hole in him. 

“When we’re together,” she explained, “and you take me—” another kiss, “when we make love—” another, and she sat up again. Revitalised, she spurred back into motion. “You feel amazing. You reach something inside me. No one else ca--ha-an!”

He thrust up, hard into her. Half-conscious, half instinctive – a pure, physical response to the glorious confession spilling from her lips. The moan that full-stopped her sentence vibrated through his body as she smothered it with his mouth.

“I wish you knew how good you feel right now,” she sighed in a tone was so impassioned he almost lost his mind. “Nothing feels as good–ah! As good this, as you do!”

Those words scorched his soul.

“Nothing? Truly?” How much he wished he had the courage to ask the obvious! “No one – nothing – in this world compares to me? Do you swear?“

She squeezed his torso with her legs.

“Ya-ah!” her body arched again. “Yes!”

Claude wondered if her affirmation was for his question or his cock as he pressed deeper, harder.

“Ah, kahmah-mi, deldahr-mi; rosheshta’mi, eshtahre’uyla-mi ka!” he ardently declared, making her giggle as he slipped into High Almyran. “Isaiti ka-mahra, mahra-taniha ka!”

With that, he shifted their position.

Despite Byleth’s brief protest at him holding her still, he sat up fully and pulled her into his lap with a force that sent tremors through them both. He liked this a little more. Not only was it quieter, but it also allowed him to kiss her better, securing her moans with his lips as they made love for the third time that day.

He lifted her slowly, then swiftly pulled her back down.

Byleth strangled the gratified groan in her throat.

“There?” Claude muttered, watching her with wide eyes. He kissed the corner of her mouth, stroking her back softly, languishingly moving them a few more times, relishing in the sounds she made. “Right there, yeah?”

She nodded quickly. 

“Hm-hm.”

He smirked, reaching between them for the other part that would drive her crazy. “Can’t forget here, can we?” 

She was firm, taut, and hypersensitive from her earlier two releases.

Byleth squealed, looping her arms around his neck.

“Yes!”

Her legs started to circle him like they always did in these moments. It made him laugh despite himself, running his free hand slowly up her thigh, hips, buttocks and finally resting on her lumbar. 

“Dance with me,” he purred.

They kissed, and they danced.

Of all things, he thought of seven-years-ago and the night of the ball when he had downed enough of that weird sickly-sweet white-wine to find the courage to approach her when no one else had. Not Sylvain, not Dimitri, nobody. Neither of them knew the steps and simply followed a few steps behind the rest of the room. We might have looked ridiculous, but who the hell cares? He got to dance with Teach before anyone else. Dimitri and Edelgard must’ve been red with jealousy! He didn’t know for sure because he had been transfixed with Byleth, making light conversation as they stumbled into the next song. 

After they had waltzed a while through two songs, every boy and a fair number of girls, wanted to be her next partner. But he had done what he wanted to do.

And asked what I wanted to ask.

Her back arched, squawking out what sounded like his name. Smiling, he watched a warm glow spread across her face, slowing his pace a little to observe better. Barely a moment passed before Byleth’s large mint-coloured eyes opened.

“Don’t slow down…” she croaked weakly. “Don’t stop–!”

“I’d never stop,” he panted, managing a wink, “If it was physically possible.” Her cheeks seemed to grow hotter and redder as he peppered her with his lips. “We’d never get anything done, probably.” He laughed. “Imagine how strategy meetings would go.”

“We’d certainly get a lot of odd looks.”

Byleth’s breath quivered as she seized his shoulders firmly and she gyrated with such unabashed frenzy Claude was taken unawares.

Dear, dear stars-above where are you finding this energy! 

“Trying to take the lead, Teach?”

“You’re the man,” she panted, half-chuckling. “Lead me.”

Claude threw his head back, laughing. He was always better at this than slow dances. Clasping her sides tightly, he did his best to keep up with this fervid rhythm. A thrilling cry rose from both their lips before they remembered themselves and smashed them together as the only means to keep quiet. 

I love you.

He was utterly lost now as if this was indeed all there was in life. 

My heart, my love, my stars-above… I love you.

He had no inhibitions now, not when they were like this. 

There’s nothing else now, By. 

Nothing but the scent of their lovemaking; feverish heat of their bodies; his hammering heart; her pounding pulse. All he could hear were the slick, illicit sounds of their damp flesh sliding, smacking. All he could feel was her, riding his dick to unassailable pleasure and him pumping over and over into her sweet, hot, plush little cunt…

Soon those sensations became thoughts, and those thoughts became the filthy words he whispered into her ear. Those words made her grip him tighter, plead with him for more and agree with every improper comment he made. 

“I’m close, my stars,” he growled, biting her earlobe, hand resting upon the small of her back, “so very close… eshtahre’uyla-mi…!“

“Hm, then come, my love,” she mumbled back, rocking a few more times to draw him out. “I want to feel it.”

“Think you can take it?”

Claude wondered if he could eke one last climax out of her, too. Whether it would be any good for her. He’d got her off so many times in the last twenty-four hours she was probably teetering on overstimulation.

Byleth nodded, still moving. “One last time?”

He smiled, pulling her against him. It wouldn’t take much. It didn’t take much. Her nails raked his back, and he knew she was there. Byleth convulsed one last time, barely in control over her body’s movements as she jutted hither and thither. Watching the pleasure consume her, he came at last in several powerful spurts that convulsed through him.

They crumbled into a heap of limbs and flesh against her pillows and mattress, breathless and sated. Claude closed his eyes for a moment, just enjoying the glow of his climax and the weight of her lying boneless across his chest. They were soaked with sweat and release. The room was heavy with the scent of sex.

I really hope my guards don’t need nose-plugs, too.

Goodness knew how much time past before Byleth finally broke the silence.

“Are you okay?”

“Uh-huh. You?”

“I think my life flashed before my eyes.”

He couldn’t curtail a blurt of laughter.

Another moment’s pause.

She began to circle his nipple with the pad of her fingertip. It was pleasant. Intimate. He thought he could fall asleep to that tiny caress.

“I heard back from Aliprand,” she said suddenly, the pad of her fingertip circling his nipple. 

Aliprand was the current leader of Jeralt’s mercenaries. The truth was, Claude was a little surprised at how soon they had responded to the message if this was the case. It seemed they really would fall over themselves to help Jeralt’s daughter.

I wonder if she massaged his back, too.

“I see,” he gasped, still catching his breath. “Starting the pillow talk with some tactics, are we? I haven’t even pulled out yet.”

Byleth gave him a playful smack.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry!” he chuckled.

Stretching his arms with a satisfied moan, he tucked them behind his head.

“Well, we have about twenty minutes before Sir Reportless is due to wake up – we can talk strategy until then.”I’m staying here for as long as I can. “So, what did Aliprand say? Or more importantly, what’s the price?”

Byleth perched herself atop his chest, hands gently stroking the hair she found there.

“As soon as he saw the message was from me, he agreed to our request without question. We need to discuss how to split the forces now.”

“Do we now?”

He hated the idea of splitting up the army though it was a sound plan, provided they picked the right people to lead it. 

“You know my father’s men will be crucial in making this plan work,” she said. “But we need to decide on a small task force to travel to Ernest Village incognito.” 

Claude wished they had Ignatz with them. He was perfect for these types of missions – his adorable, baby-face invited trust. No enemy ever suspected that guy was seconds away from painting the scenery with their blood. Alas, he was back at Garreg Mach commanding the left flank of the reserve army and, with any luck, cuddling up to Flayn under a lovely warm blanket with a good book.

He just hoped Seteth wouldn’t give them too much trouble once he got back.

Claude sighed, gazing up at Byleth. 

Would that we had a cosy blanket to huddle under all night. One with the power of invisibility. And soundproof.

“With Seteth on his way back to Garreg Mach the next most qualified commander would be Catherine, I suppose,” he reasoned. “Though for this type of mission, perhaps someone like Leonie would be a better choice.” 

Byleth nodded, saying nothing. 

“They should also take one of our best scouts with them,” he added.

Ashe or Cyril. Claude knew which one he wanted to send. Ashe, much like Ignatz, looked the part of a sweet, butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth traveller. Cyril, on the other hand, was Almyran and would arouse suspicion by default. Even with that straightforward logic, he wondered if sentimentality around the old Blue Lions would make her not want to send Ashe.

He’s the only Lion Cub who came on this campaign, after all.

Byleth’s index finger began circling his nipple again, thinking carefully.

“Leonie would jump at the chance to work with my father’s men,” she agreed. “As for which scout to send, Ashe is the soundest choice. Not only does he know how to move undetected but he’ll blend in better should they be spotted.” 

Claude smirked. It was like they were of one mind.

“That’s the mini task force,” Byleth muttered conclusively, pulling herself into a sitting position. He stared up at her as she straddled his stomach. “Now,” she proceeded. “I want your opinion now on the person I’ve selected to lead the battalion we’ll use to draw out the mages.” 

You mean ‘the bait’?

He started to feel that same foreboding he had sensed earlier. Still, he masked it as best he could behind a sly smile. 

“Already planned the whole battle, have you?” he teased. “Seems my tactical mind isn’t needed here. I’m just a glorified bed-warmer to you now…”

She tapped his nose playfully. “You’re a very hot bed-warmer.”

“Touché!”

“Please hear me out.”

“Very well.”

Even as he said it, he could feel his heart beginning to bang. I’m not going to like this, his body hummed. His gut already knew what Byleth was going to say.

“They are the best choice not just for their strategic skills in the field but from a practical point-of-view, the enemy won’t be able to resist attacking when they see them,” Byleth argued. 

His hands found her hips again.

“This person sounds too good to be true,” he muttered in resignation. “I fear I know where you’re going with this, By…”

She leaned down to give him one last kiss and a nod.

“Me.”

---