Chapter 4: Beyond All Fear

The world fell away with her passionate offer.

She’s becoming uninhibited. 

Claude didn’t know what to make of it other than to enjoy it. Bit by bit, each of Nader’s warnings fell straight out of his head. He couldn’t think about anything beyond her standing in front of him. And that was what he wanted. To be free from the shackles that weighed them down. And right now, the look in Byleth’s eyes promised escape, even if it was only for a little while, even if it wasn’t wise. 

She kissed him, her tongue soft and ginger tasting. It was a kiss he gladly returned, open and hungry. But, the longer they wrangled, the more desperate it seemed to become. But, Claude’s mind raced with numerous other thoughts: of the things he wanted now, tomorrow and for the rest of his existence; of how long they could get away with doing this before someone else found out; of what would happen when Dimitri found out; and whether he should even care anymore.

“Nader wants me to give you up,” Claude drawled, only half aware he spoke aloud. A whimper wobbled in her mouth, but he kissed it defiantly. “He thinks I’m a fool—” Each word was pulsated by his lips. “I probably am, but I don’t care. I can’t give you up. So, I’ll find a way to free us—I don’t care how long it takes or what I have to do—to build a future with you—”

Byleth began to shake. Violently. She quaked as though the earth moved beneath her feet. Pulling away slightly, he realised she was crying.

Claude was instantly filled with dread. “By …?”

He gazed at her distressed face, and his vital organs dropped to his knees.

What’s brought this on all of a sudden?!

She bit down on her lip. “I’m sorry. It’s just everything. Dimitri. You. M-Me. And the future. I just wonder if–! Whether you–! I mean, haven’t you thought about—agh!?”

She buried her face in her hands, releasing a low yet harrowing screech.

Claude felt impotent. He had never been one of those idiots who thought ol’ Teach was completely imperturbable. ‘Beyond any fear.’ Even at school, he was shrewd enough to see that beneath her stony mask was a soul begging for understanding. Teach was never much for talking about her feelings back then, and now seven years later, she wasn’t much different. Yet he had never seen her so distraught; it unnerved him. 

Fighting against the tension knotted in him, he took her in his arms and whispered softly into her hair. “It’s okay, By.”

They were still a while. Eventually, Byleth let him pull her hands away from her face to reveal her eyes, red with sorrow. 

Her lip trembled. 

“I’m sorry, Claude.” More silence. “But I’m scared. I’m worried whether you realise–? Whether you remember–!”

Silence. Again.

Claude’s heart began to hammer hard.

Tell me what? A million possibilities shot through his head, too quick to take in, each unpleasant as the last. But, dear Lord, please don’t be my worst fear.

Yet he couldn’t stop himself from saying it.

“Is it that… you don’t see a future?” 

Byleth winced. 

Claude felt sick. Everything he dreaded spewed out of him: 

“Is that what you’re scared to tell me, that this is all we’ll ever have? Sex, pain, and nothing more? Please, be honest, By.” He recalled how upset she got earlier before Nader had walked in. He couldn’t remember what she said now, but now he wondered if it was all building up to this. “Are you saying that—” God, it hurts! “—that you don’t want us to be together?” 

“Will you just shut up and let me try to explain?!” Byleth snapped, at last.

Her eyes watered with tears of sadness, anger, or both. And Claude felt ashamed of his stupid outburst, his tantrum. He felt awful.

“No, I’m sorry,” Byleth shook her head. “I shouldn’t have told you to shut up.”

“No, I should just shut up.”

“It’s all right, Claude.”

“No, it’s not,” he sniffed, looking up as though to ask the heavens for guidance. “I-I try so hard to be understanding. So calm. So cool. To never lose my temper. But sometimes, it just boils over. It shouldn’t be that way. I want to talk about my feelings. I don’t want to hide, not from you…”

His voice trailed off as she dabbed his cheek with her thumb, expression tender. That was when he realised a tear had escaped him, too. Yet she rubbed it away before he had even noticed. It was such a sweet gesture. Love triumphing over fear.

Byleth’s hand moved to Claude’s chest. “Your heart is going wild.”

He took her hand in his own. “I’m scared for you.”

A flash of guilt passed through her eyes. 

“I don’t want to scare you,” she murmured.

He pulled her close. To his relief, she leaned into him and placed a kiss in the valley between his clavicle. “But I’ve never seen you like this either, By. I love how expressive you’ve become, but I hate seeing you upset. Least of all, if I’m the one making you feel this way.”

She shook her head. “You didn’t. I’m angry that I can never just say how I feel. Without dancing around the subject.”

“I have no right to judge you for that.”

“You know what you said before? About wanting to be candid?”

He nodded.

“I want the same.”

Claude brushed away the green strands of hair sticking to her cheeks. “Then tell me what’s on your mind, my stars.”

Byleth took a deep breath. “I know I keep stopping and starting.” She paused again before making a sad, self-aware smirk. “It was when you spoke about building a future with me, it hit me. What you’d be giving up for me.” Another uneasy breath. “And by that,” her following words came out quickly, like ripping off a poultice. “I mean that I can’t have children.”

Ah. There it was. Claude felt stupid for not addressing the matter directly with her before now, outside of contraception.

“I know, By,” he said, trying his best to be reassuring. 

The first time they had made love, it had only occurred to him afterwards that their (what at the time was going to be a one and only) moment of weakness could result in a surprise epilogue. There was no potion in the Wise One’s creation that could effectively stop conception, but the mani el-Mashyana was the best humanity had. Yet, she had scoffed resentfully when he gave it to her, as though it was a cruel joke. “I’m a hybrid — I don’t think we need to worry about an accident.” She had said those bitter words barely prompted, as though she had wanted to confess her fears for a very, very long time. So, though she had humoured him by taking the potion. They had (almost always, save a few hiccups) continued to use it to date, but Byleth was still insistent on its pointlessness.

She resumed. “I can’t bear the thought that you might come to resent me for it one day.” 

“That will never happen.”

“You can’t know that for certain.”

“I can. I don’t want you for your womb, my stars. And, for that matter–” because Claude wanted to be fair, he added, “–I doubt Dimitri wanted you for it, either.”

She shook her head wretchedly. “Even so, it’s something a regnant ruler needs.”

“Well, you don’t even know for certain that you can’t have them ever. Maybe you’ve just been unlucky so far, or maybe Dimitri’s the one who can’t have children, or you both can, but you just aren’t…” Compatible. He didn’t finish that thought outright as it felt too on the nose, considering.

“Even if you can’t have them, it doesn’t matter to me,” he finished.

Byleth rested her forehead against his, smiling sadly. “Will you still be saying that in twenty years when having an heir will matter much more?”

“There are other ways to get heirs, By.” He kissed her nose to comfort her, but she went stony-still again. Lord, what have I said wrong now? “…What is it?”

“By other ways, you mean by concubines?”

Claude scowled and responded decisively. “Definitely not.”

He was a little offended by the idea. Most Almyran kings of the past had concubines, more often than they had wives or queens. But the zenana was a salacious and misunderstood concept for the Fódlan folk, even Adrestians. They all had this idea that it was a place where shahs kept hundreds of sexually enslaved, half-naked women and engaged in orgies. The truth wasn’t a hair so titillating. Claude knew because he lived in one. Yes, his father had flings with other women before his mother, some of which resulted in children, but he had set them all aside (for Tiana made it clear to Dariush that she wouldn’t stand for “any of that nonsense” if he wished to remain intact) before Khalid was born. So, the zenana consisted only of his mother, his father’s maiden-and-widowed sisters, aunts and cousins, and his elder half-siblings. All gossiping and cursing one another. Khalid had always been resented and hated. All because his mother was the queen, a title none of his siblings’ mothers could ever have dreamed of holding. His brothers had never hidden their contempt and had all died cursing his name. Then, there was Alaya. He never believed she of all people would stab him in the back, yet she did. But he didn’t want to think that. Not right now.

“What made you suggest ‘concubines’?” he pressed.

That was when Byleth hit him with another revelation:

“Because I once suggested Dimitri should take a secondary consort. To see if he could father a child.”

It was like a whack to Claude’s head. “I… wasn’t expecting you to say that. When was that?”

“A month or so before the Bergliez rebellion started.”

So, after ‘we’ happened.

“And how did he take that suggestion?” 

“Terribly. He was offended.”

That didn’t shock Claude. Dimitri and I have that much in common. “It was still selfless of you to suggest it,” he offered, not knowing what else to say.

“No, it wasn’t. I could do the same for you if it was, but I can’t, Claude. I don’t think I ever can. The thought of you with another woman–? It makes me angry. Furious. I know I have no right. I’m such a hypocrite. In every sense.”

She didn’t need to say anything more — goodness knew how often his skin had crawled with jealousy of Dimitri. 

He pulled her back into his arms and pressed his mouth to her forehead.

“Almyra isn’t like Fódlan,” he mouthed. “We don’t have crests or primogeniture to dictate who succeeds. Usually, when a king dies or is simply no longer seen as a worthy warrior, his sons go to war. The more there are, the bloodier the conflict!”

He took a lamentable breath.

“Together with everything I went through not just as a prince but as—” Claude couldn’t think of a polite way of putting it: in Almyra, he was ahmixtan; in Fódlan, he was ‘half-caste’. “Point is, I don’t even know if whoever succeeds me ought to be a child of my own. Even if we did have a child, a blood child, can I rightly say they ought to bear the responsibility I carry? Shouldn’t they be free to find and follow their dreams? Isn’t it better to build a world worth passing down to all future generations, not a legacy to hand to your kids when you die…?”

His voice trailed off.

He pulled away to look Byleth in the eyes.

“Sorry, I’m rambling.” She shook her head, smiling – a smile so delightful to see that he kissed it. “I’m trying to say that I love you more than the possibility of being a father. So if the choice is between having children and you, I just want you. I’ll be whatever you would have of me. If you’ll have me. If I would be enough. Be with me.”

Byleth made no response other than to kiss him again. First his lips, then across his jaw, and down to the crook of his neck. He felt the heat of her tongue as it traced his Ask’s apple’s circumference. His jugular ached as she nipped his skin lightly with her teeth, punctuating each beat of his heart. He imagined her growing wet as he felt himself grow hard.

“By, are you sure you want to–?” he began shakily.

But she cut him off with her index finger against his lips.

“If anything, I want you even more than before,” Byleth hummed happily. 

Not too long ago, she would never have propositioned him like this. Then, she would be terrified that someone would catch them, even when he took precautions beforehand. But now, her boldness was so great he wondered if she was beyond caring if they were caught.

Leaning lower, she nuzzled his chest. Her lips were light and frisky before employing her tongue to curl around one of his nipples. Below the belt, she ran the heel of her hand against his breeches. Her dainty hands petted him through his thick trousers, tracing the outline of his swelling member with her index finger. 

“Do you like that?” she intoned sexily, picking at his buttons. “It feels like you do.”

His loins lurched.

“Oh, I do. Very much.” 

After everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, he wanted nothing more than this. Even though daybreak was starting to intrude, it couldn’t put Claude off. He was unbelievably toey. Every inch of his body itched for sex. 

Byleth gripped his jacket, dragging him into another wild kiss. His hips instinctively lurched forwards. Reciprocating with rhythmic rocks, she grazed his bulge with her body. Her moist hand slipped down and slipped past Claude’s flies. 

“Do you think we should stop?” she asked insincerely, clearly having no intention of doing so.

“Probably,” he conceded, cupping her cheek, “But I don’t think we’re going to.”

It wasn’t lost on Claude how multifaceted that question had been.

He watched as she released him into the open, dark and thick. Just for a second, he pondered its form, twitching, straining, out of his control– and how vulnerable he was, clasped between her fingers. Toying with the tiny pearls forming from the head, Byleth began to fondle his cock. Like a delicate instrument, she carefully kneaded his balls. 

Claude scrunched his eyes shut. A hiss frizzled through clenched teeth; like kindling, every part of him was on fire. 

Opening his eyes again, he realised that she was now kneeling. 

Her tongue circled tantalisingly atop the tip while she hugged his shaft with her fingers. He wanted to scream out – but he shoved his clenched fist into his mouth, desperate to stifle the sounds trying to escape. But when she gripped his buttocks, engulfing his length as far as she could, he bit his knuckles hard enough to draw blood.

When Byleth noticed, she let him go. “Are you alright?”

Claude nodded frantically, pulling her back to eye level. They wrestled each other out of their clothes; they stroked, kissed, and whined excitedly. Every curve of her matched each corner of him, their bodies pressed like magnets, inseparable. Two pieces of a puzzle. As though they could coalesce into one another, like joining rivers, colliding stars. Like fire. 

Tongues jousting, they clung to one another fiercely as though bracing for a storm. 

Pressing a long kiss on her neck, he purred into her ear, “People might start wondering what we’re up to here.” Bad enough that Nader knows, damn him. “We need to be quick now. And quiet.“

Byleth agreed.

The world became a blur. Claude tumbled backwards onto the couch, where Byleth immediately joined him. Straddling his sensitive piece, she pertly began to rock back and forth, dampening him with her flowing core. Then, stealing another kiss that sunk deep and drank long, her hand hovered over his centre of lust again. 

“Sometimes,” she muttered, hand grazing the head. “I wonder what this feels like. For you, I mean.”

A laugh escaped him. 

Is she talking about my… hard-on? 

Running his hands down Byleth’s waist, he thought about it. 

How does it feel? How does one describe something so primal? 

“Longing,” he answered, at last. “Longing for you, to feel you.” 

He ran his fingers through Byleth’s wet folds, pressing into her webbed walls. Her panting was like music as he languidly plunged them in and out. Her knees tightened around him; Claude never ceased to marvel at how desperately she grasped him, as though she desired only to be one with him.

“Longing to join you,” he resumed. 

Removing his fingers, he aligned his member with her longing slit. 

“Be in you.” 

They slipped together with a stifled groan. 

“For this.” He gave a hard thrust up into her. Byleth mewled in pleasure, and he chuckled, repeating the motion. “And this,” he growled. Then, again. And again, watching her writhe. It was immensely satisfying to see her all twitchy and exuberant. “And that,” he snarled, swearing under his breath. “I could do this forever. Watch you forever.”

Egged on, she braced against his chest and rode him wildly.

Throwing his head back, he felt the familiar warmth slowly edging forth. He hadn’t the mind to keep talking. The ‘mind’ was no longer in control. This was a primal state of mind where the physical ruled. He craved more. He treasured these feelings: the teetering in the pit of his paunch, the promise of oncoming release, the spark in her eyes when she climaxed… recalling it, he held her tighter, fucked her harder. Her nails bit into his skin. He hissed in pain, but a good pain. It reminded him that they were here, together–

Claude’s eyes snapped open. 

Byleth squeaked. 

He came, suddenly, a little unexpectedly. It scorched through him, making him shudder and convulse. After that, the only sound he could hear was the blood rushing through his brain.

But Byleth was still on top of him, head down, limbs tense, and stuck on the cusp. Flushed and feverish, she looked lost as his stem lost durability.

He inwardly cursed, angry at his lapse in control. 

Determined to right the wrong, he snapped into action. Hooking his arms around Byleth’s thighs, he pushed her onto her back so quickly that she let out a surprised cry. 

He threw her legs over his shoulders and buried his face in her lap without a word. Tasting the luscious mix of her arousal and his come, he tended to her swollen bud with his tongue and lips. The scent ramped him up further as he gently suckled her. He heard her splutter encouragement and followed the gasps of “that’s it” and “keep going”.

Her thighs quivered, toes curled, back arched, and, at last, his efforts reaped their reward — Byleth plateaued with a low, throttled grunt. 

The quiet that followed seemed to last forever. Claude lay his head against her abdomen, kissing it softly as he tried to catch his breath. 

Byleth hummed as her fingers danced across his temple and through his dampened hair. Love was such an incredible sensation. Feeling her touch him, so sweetly, tenderly, comfortingly, thankfully. 

Closing his eyes, he focused only on her caress.

His whole body felt light for the briefest moment, and his mind was indeed at rest.

Claude had been lucky to escape with his life when Garreg Mach fell, but Byleth’s whereabouts had been a lingering question once he made it back to Derdriu. 

Everyone had a different version of where they had last seen her. Lysithea and Ignatz hadn’t seen her since she demonstrated how to use the ballistae, catapults, and trebuchets — that had been before the siege began. Raphael claimed she had been with Flayn and Seteth, fighting an umbral beast. Leonie last saw her on the battlements with Lady Rhea just before the retreat was ordered. Hilda concurred, then promptly asked Claude when he last saw Marianne or Lorenz. Neither had made it back to Leicester, and there were already rumours that they had been captured by Edelgard. Sadly, Claude had no extra knowledge to ease her mind. 

He hadn’t been with his fellow Golden Deer once the evacuation of the students was ordered.

He had been with Dimitri.

That was the last time he saw Byleth. He had had her in his sight, then — chaos broke out as umbral beasts began to attack. And she was gone, like vanishing into thin air. Just like Rhea seemed to, by all accounts. Seteth and Flayn, too. For a while, he wondered if the four of them escaped together. He hoped that was what happened.

But it was Judith who finally shed some light on the matter.

“Rhea was captured,” she said, her voice as deep and matter-of-fact. “Edelgard’s personal battalion found her in deep despair and so easily dragged her off.”

That answers one lingering question I had, Claude thought, but not the one he truly wanted to be answered.

“Were Seteth and Flayn with her?”

“No, she was alone. Though it seems they probably got away. They’re distinct enough that their deaths would have been reported, but they aren’t exactly valuable hostages. Unlike poor Lorenz.”

At that point, they knew Edelgard had taken him hostage. 

But as for Marianne, still no word. Everyone was now starting to fear the worst.

A moment passed, and Claude finally dared to ask the question on his mind.

“What about Teach–that is, what about Professor Byleth?” Then he quickly added, “I know Professor Hanneman and Professor Manuela got away, but there’s no word of her. Yet. Any idea where she might have gone?”

Judith winced.

“I’m afraid there is no sign of the girl at all. The last anyone saw of her, she fought alongside the white dragon.”

His mind buzzed at the memory.

The Immaculate One. Claude was sure that was what he saw. He had happened upon a picture of it in the library once and had tried to show Byleth, though Seteth had been quick to confiscate it. Where had that beast come from?! Had Rhea summoned it, or perhaps the “power” within Teach did? They were all questions he thought Rhea would be best to answer, especially after he had ‘accidentally-on-purpose’ eavesdropped on a conversation she had with Seteth and Flayn. 

That conversation had left him with a sickly feeling in his stomach, even though he barely understood it.

He had considered trying to weasel some extra details out of Flayn. Though she could be guarded about herself, she was a soft touch compared to the other two. And Flayn liked lurking behind Teach, more like a retainer than a student. He thought he could flirt or fluster her into revealing something, but Claude never had a chance to sweet-talk her before the sack. Even if he had, she probably didn’t know enough to satisfy his curiosity, and the last thing Claude needed was mere speculation. He had enough of his own, rolling around inside his mind-bowl. 

Still, she could have told him what (the hell!) a “progenitor god” was supposed to be?! On the one hand, it seemed pretty self-explanatory – a root, a start, a beginning. Yet it clearly held greater significance to Flayn, and her ‘brother’ Seteth, who had seemed disturbed by whatever it meant for Teach.

That was when Claude noticed Judith’s expression became uncomfortably soft. Like she was hiding something.

“That’s not all, is it? What else did you hear about Teach’s whereabouts?”

The older woman sighed heavily. 

“I’m sorry, boy. The reports after that are conflicted and confused, but Bertha says she saw what happened next.”

Bertha was her middle daughter. She had left home at thirteen years old to join the Church, something that Judith was incredibly proud of her for. It was her way of saying the source was reliable. That there could be no one she trusted more.

“If you know the worst, I want to hear it.”

Judith sighed. “Apparently, the white dragon was attacked by demonic beasts. The girl tried to save it but was beset upon by an Imperial mage, pale as death itself. He flung her back, and she slipped off the cliff into the Oghma Valley below.”

She didn’t have to say anymore. The implication was clear.

Claude had struggled to even take in a breath. He felt angry, sick and numb all at once. Lost in a sea of confusion. 

“Are you saying she died…?” was all he managed to utter. 

How can she be–? Dead. She bore the Crest of Flames and could wield the Sword of the Creator without a crest stone, had returned from never-ending darkness as an enlightened being kissed by the mysterious Fódlan magic that pulsed through her blood…

Byleth can’t just die like that.

He had managed to avoid tears, if only just. He could not let the mask fall in front of anyone, even Judith. It could only come off when he was utterly alone.

Claude realised something else at that moment, too. It had struck him almost as hard as hearing Byleth was dead.

He already knew he had a crush on her. That had happened pretty early on. Even at Remire, he was practically skipping from it. But then, the more he learned about her, the deeper his inquisitiveness in her became, and the more they talked, the stronger the emotions became. A strange, emotional concoction of innocent curiosity, stunned admiration, and guilty lust. Teach was the first person he had ever held that peculiar combination of emotions for. And what he glossed from their occasional discussions enthralled him more like a meeting of minds, of meeting someone who had lived a similar life to you despite walking a different path. 

Towards the end of the school year, the metaphorical flame he carried for her had never burned brighter. 

Like Zodata’s fire. 

When Judith told him what had happened, that Byleth was dead, his entire body felt cold. Like his heart had been virgin steel fresh from the furnace, glowing brightly. Then, plunged into frigid waters to be quenched. He was scorching and freezing all at once, soul screaming and hissing.

At last, he inwardly admitted what he felt: he was in love with her.

The memory faded. Judith’s face, the room where they stood, and whatever happened next dissolved into darkness. 

Teach had stayed right there, in his mind’s eye. The warmth of her skin, the faintest of smiles on her lips, and everything else curled around him, drawing him in. So tangible that he felt as though he could reach in and pull her out, back to the land of the living.

He clung to it like a madman.

Isolating in his study, Claude spent much of his time devising numerous schemes to piss Edelgard off without openly antagonising her. Disrupting trade routes, mainly. The odd skirmish on the borders he shared with Adrestia and its new ‘Faerghus Dukedom’, another. It was a brilliant way to vent a lot of the darkness he felt towards her. There weren’t many people he prayed to be struck down, but Edelgard made that concise list. The violent war she had started and the instability she had brought to Fódlan — he would never forgive her. 

It’s her fault we lost Lorenz and Marianne, that Dimitri was murdered, that people had been displaced, homeless and starving. It’s her fault that Teach is gone.

The Knights of Seiros had been his last hope. They had spread out across the country searching for their precious Rhea. Had they the sense to come to Claude, he would have shared the knowledge Judith had imparted on him. Idiots they were, though, none ever saw fit to turn to him for assistance. 

He did find out Seteth and Flayn were ‘hiding’ (laughably!) among their ranks. He dared to hope that if they were there, so too might Byleth.

But, no. 

Judith told you. Teach is buried in that valley.

The last glimmer of hope – or denial – had begun to falter for Claude.

Life is fleeting. Too fleeting.

Five years had seemed such a long time when he was a young boy in Almyra, but the time between the fall of Garreg Mach and the bitter end of 1185 had passed Claude by like a whip of Jamilah’s tail. Moon shifted to Moon, straum to straum, and seasons rolled on and on. 

His mother wrote to him weekly, begging him to come home. As he had always been closer to her than his father, it was hard to ignore her pleas:

Fódlan is a bog of murderous depravity. It’s only a matter of time before that tiny little tyrant arrives to paint Derdriu red with your blood. Come home, Khalid. You should consider this an order from me as your mother and the queen. Don’t let this be the hill you die on. Your future is with Almyra, not there.

It was said that the Daevabanu Rhoxana would sooner die on a hundred hills than yield it to an enemy, so to receive this advice from her of all people was surreal. But nevertheless, he had a mind to write back and ask her what she had done with his real mother. 

Obviously, her standards were ‘double’ regarding her one and only child.

She even called him ‘Khalid’ — something she only did when she was severe. When he decided to travel to Fódlan, he had known it couldn’t be under an Almyran name, and his mother’s nickname for him had always been ‘Claude’. “A Fódlanised version of the name your father gave you,” she said. “And a lucky name amongst my family.” He had grown up on her Fódlan Tales, Loogian romances and Leichestian ballads, and the latter was filled with Claudes and Claudias. Each was often famed for their wits and wiles over their physical strength. “Very you, I think,” his mother would joke. Thus, when he sailed into the Port of Derdriu and became the heir of Riegan, it seemed apt. His pet name became his alias, and he had been more Claude than Khalid ever since.

He felt compelled to share her letters with the old man. It was the only insight he got about what his daughter was up to. When Claude had read the letter back to him, Oswald had even laughed. 

“Who is that woman, and what has she done to your mother?” he cackled.

It had made Claude smile. “My thoughts exactly.”

Less surprisingly, though, his grandfather had agreed with the sentiment of his daughter’s letter.

“I am relieved Tia has learned some restraint in the twenty- or so years since she left. Perhaps you ought to listen to her, son.”

“Ha! Now, who are you, and what have you done with my grandfather?”

And he had been pleased to make the old guy laugh again.

“I wish you would listen to your mother, my lad,” old Oswald had choked out. “Then again, she never listened to me once in her entire life, so she can’t complain now she’s on the other end.” 

His grandfather spluttered out another laugh and patted Claude’s hand. 

“You reap what you sow, eh?”

Exactly, so Claude didn’t hold back in explaining why he was staying when he responded to his mother.

You know that retreating now would sever my ties to Fódlan. I wouldn’t give Edelgard the satisfaction. I will be the thorn in her side for as long as possible. 

I refuse to bow out of the game yet. Not until I have exhausted every trick in the book, every card up my sleeve and every scheme I can devise. 

Trust me. I won’t die before seeing it through. However, I know my limits and will leave when the time is right.

Not long after, the old man died. A final heart attack had pushed his second foot into the grave. 

It was a miserable morning. It had rained hard all night, making the room smell damp and demise. And though they had never been close, Oswald had mellowed significantly the closer his end came. Claude was all he had, and he knew it. 

Coaching him on how to handle the other lords at Roundtable meetings had clearly made him happy, especially when his grandson pressed him for ‘tidbits’ he could use for a few schemes. There had been an odd glint in the old guy’s eyes. Claude didn’t know whether it was pride or just the satisfaction that there would be someone to make the other four squirm when he was gone.

So, it had been hard not to crumble a little at the realisation that this was ‘it’. Grandfather was dying, and he would have to rule Leicester. Alone. 

Claude still recalled how his grandfather had clutched his hands weakly between his own and made his last plea. 

“If it must come to it, yield to the emperor. Don’t die, my boy!”

“Never knew you cared, old man!” he teased weakly.

“I’m serious, Khalid!” Hearing ‘Khalid’ pass Oswald’s lips unnerving. But, like with his mother, it spoke to his seriousness.”I have watched too many of my kin die, lad, from babes in the cradle to my Godfrey. I know you care nought for the Riegan name–” 

Claude cared somewhat. Though he had lived most of his life in ignorance of it, it was still a part of him. Half of him, to be exact.

“But if it must die with you, let it be as an old man like me. Not a young lad, taken before his time. Swear to me now. An oath, a ‘mehrbahn’ or whatever it’s called.”

He swore the oath. Then, it was over. Claude really was the last Riegan standing. 

He wrote to his mother to let her know the news and, as hard as he tried to keep his anxiety under wraps in, what he thought to be, a well-written, mature and formal letter detailing his grandfather’s final days; it must have come through. 

Not least because her response came with a Nader attached to it.

“I believe her exact words were, ‘Nader, bloomin’ go and sort that little so-and-so the heck out!’ or something to that effect,” his former tutor explained once he arrived in Derdriu. “But angrier. And with more swearing.”

It was good to have that extra pair of hands to help, especially since they were Nader’s. He was more of a parent to him than either of his parents in many ways. Not that he held it against them, it was just fact. And his mother knew that, begrudgingly.

“She still wants you home, kiddo,” Nader affirmed as they practised in the castle courtyard. “Your dad does, too. I was a little antsy to leave ’em, what with your ‘lovely’ brothers stirring the pot.”

Swords clashed. 

“They’re always stirring the pot.”

“It’s different this time, Khal.” Block, parry. “Really different.” With his whole force, he drove Claude back. “Hasim is dead.”

Claude was momentarily stunned enough to be knocked down.

Hasim was his second eldest brother. A strong yet vain, arrogant and sadistic prick who probably deserved whatever happened to him. Still, it was a surprise to hear it casually revealed.

“When did it happen?”

“Last month. Strangled with a silk cord.”

Claude’s blood ran cold. “Father’s not dying, is he?”

“Last I checked, he was healthy as a horse.”

But a silk cord? That was how sennu killed other sennu, so they could not be said to have spilt their sire’s blood. Goodness knows all little Khalid’s brothers had tried to strangle him multiple times in his youth. Very unsuccessfully, thank One. 

“Mustafar?” Claude asked.

“I thought so. As did your father.” Parry, parry, block. “But Alaya swears it was Dhahir. Says she ‘saw it in the fire’ or whatever nonsense her ilk believe.”

Priestesses believed they saw the Wise One’s knowledge in smoke. 

“I don’t think Dhahir’s strong enough, do you?” Clash, clang. “ I reckon Dhahir would need Seyed and Shahid to help him pull. Mustafar on the other hand–“

“You’re preaching to the converted here, Khal. I’m just tellin’ ya what Laya said.”

While Claude was sceptical of his sister’s ability to ‘find secrets in flames’, he did know that Dhahir was one of Mustafar’s creatures. A follower, through and through. The same went for Seyed, or Shahid, though he had delusions of grandeur, too. Each one was a vulture, looking for easy pickings. Heck, Claude wouldn’t be surprised if they were all working together to ‘off’ the strongest brother, now Khalid was no longer around to occupy their minds.

If I’m lucky, he thought guiltily. It won’t be long before the rest all turn on each other.

“Sandraman’rahmat,” said Claude at last. “Whatever else he might have been, he deserves to rest in peace.” 

And that bastard needed all the mercy the Spirit Taker was willing to give.

Claude successfully parried, then riposted with a move he remembered seeing Teach use. A technique that had lain dormant in his mind. It was satisfying but terribly sad.

“Not bad,” Nader admitted. “She’d be good to have a go around with, I reckon.”

The young Duke lowered his sword, fighting to hold his smile. “You’d have liked her, I think.”

They practised until dusk. It had been good to relive the old days and ‘catch-up’ on the home news, as blasé Nader had been about it. 

But it had unintentionally dug up old wounds. Too many lost friends, and of course, her.

Laying in bed, he could see her in his mind’s eye. As though he could reach in and pull her out again. Alive. He could see her, just as she had been that night before the attack. If only he had dared to hold her, to kiss her. Though his heart still clung to the mad hope that she might still be hiding despite it all, he had to accept reality lest he entirely loses his grip on it.

Teach fell from that cliff into that valley, and she is lying there now. Cold. Lost for good.

The only other place he ever found her was in his dreams. 

There, she was as warm as she was in life. There, he could tell her how he felt. To that, she would smile, embrace him and then kiss him. They would go further, as far as two lovers could possibly go… and then further when he would tell her the one thing he wanted to, the thing that burdened his heart with regret, the words he had been too proud to speak—

Then he would wake; his eyes would be sore, and his cheeks would be damp.

He could barely register the visions that flashed before his eyes now, a smattering of alternate paths. That was how he saw the world. He had always been a schemer thinking outside the box. Like an eagle gazing down at the little mice that scurried about the prairie, everything was a battlefield.

“It’s hard to see the world as we do, Claude,” he could hear Byleth say. Her voice had rung through him like a wind chime. “No one can plot a faultless strategy. People are unpredictable, unlike tokens on a map.”

The image of Dimitri emerged from the shadows, young, two-eyed and in his academy uniform. His hand and lance were drenched in Adrestian blood. Grinning manically, he raised his weapon and turned to cut down another nameless figure. Claude had seen him kill so many during the battle at Garreg Mach…

He turned back to Byleth.

“People don’t always move the way you want them to either,” she continued. “They do what they want,” he agreed. “And people bleed,” they both said.

They spoke as though they were quoting a significant scholar verbatim, but it had simply been two minds thinking alike. 

“You’d have been happier with the Golden Deer.”

Claude glimpsed Dimitri again.

He was older now, as he was during the war, on the fields of Gronder. He moved recklessly through the bleak, black landscape of this dreamworld. Stabbing and driving his weapon wildly at faceless enemies, killing them instantly and painting the grey grass crimson.

Then, out came a thousand gleaming daggers with pale hands wielding them. Crepuscular beings encircled him in the eternal twilight, gathered around him like hunters taunting a wild boar.

Claude turned and pulled Byleth into his arms. 

“If only you’d picked me, Teach.”

He felt her arms encircle him, hugging him tightly. 

Behind them, one of the umbras pierced Dimitri’s heart.

A thunderous roar filled Claude’s ears.

Claude bolted up, struggling to take a breath. It was like his ribs were clasping down on his lungs. His heart was juddering, painfully and scarily so, as though it were trying to free itself from its confines. It felt like his ribs were too tight to let the air in. Waking like this had plagued him all his childhood. Fear. Terror. A body poised to fight or flee.

“Claude…?” 

A cool hand rested on his naked skin, almost causing him to leap out of it. It was swiftly followed by Byleth, pressing a soft kiss on his shoulder.

“Your heart is beating so fast.”

Slowly, he began to ground himself. Only a dream, memories wrapped within a nightmare. Finally, he remembered where he really was. Not in the past where Teach was still gone or a dank nightmare realm where Dimitri lumbered about like an avenging monster. He was in quarters, in a camp, at war, in Fódlan. 

With Byleth. The scent of their sinful dance still lingered in the air; he could still taste them both in his dry mouth. Everything that had proceeded this moment dawned as surely as the sun outside.

I must have dropped off — I shouldn’t have done that! he cursed himself. “An’asef. I’m sorry, By.”

She stroked his cheek, sweetly kissed his jaw and brushed the beads of sweat from his neck.

“The tea will be cold now,” she soughed, eying the long-forgotten porcelain. “Just as well. You need some water.”

She slowly climbed to her feet, like a fawn learning how to walk. Claude watched her tip-toed through the chaos of their clothes, crumpled on the floor, towards the freshwater barrel. Her dark-gold silhouette was striking against the oncoming dawn radiating through his tent walls. To look at her now, he could believe she was a goddess.

Literally, she claimed to have ‘hosted’ one.

Claude wasn’t sure if he believed Sothis was really a god. He never much believed in anything divine as a child. There didn’t seem to be much ‘divinity’ in the world, being dragged from one end of Almyra to another as his parents put down one clan’s rebellion after the next. Though the Wise One and his yazatanre were said to live in heaven— he didn’t feel their presence even if the priestesses claimed they heard and saw everything. Little Khalid drove them bonkers with his questions. Why would supreme beings meddle in the lives of humans? Didn’t they have their own societies? Did they have their own gods they paid homage to? If Zodata loves the ‘children of the earth’, why did It allow suffering? Is it that It couldn’t stop human tendency toward war and violence, and, if that’s true, how can the Wise One indeed be wise if It doesn’t know how to convince people to do what It wants?

He got his ears boxed a few times for that.

As for the Goddess Sothis, based on what Byleth told him about her, she sounded powerful but no more divine than the legendary yazatanre of Almyra. As wise as Mehir the Judge, who with the strength of a bull died and rose again; noble as Tyrish, the horse-man that fought the daevas of drought; as powerful as El-Maleekan, the so-called God of Air that was said to sleep beneath the Great Temple of Bahbilah. 

Like Wiley Eshtar, he thought with a smile, who flew her wyvern across the night sky and hung the stars so that the other three could be guided back to Earth to save humanity. As a fellow patron of the stars, Eshtar had always been his favourite of the yazatanre.

Though each one of the heroes of Almyra seemed more mythical than historical, he still believed they were real people. Embellished by thousands of years of storytelling but real all the same. And knowing that people could achieve such magnificent feats made his ambitions seem reachable.

Byleth returned to him with the water. He gladly took it, the water seeming incredibly delicious in his dry mouth.

She watched as he drank, expression peaceful and unreadable.

Dear One, but she is beautiful. Real and beautiful.

Above all, he struggled to put his faith in something he couldn’t see or feel. From Fódlan to Almyra, they taught that the gods lived on clouds and stars in the sky. Claude had squinted up at those fluffy white clouds for as long as he could remember but had never seen evidence of a god, and when he looked out upon the night sky, he didn’t see a place from where the gods watched the humans like ants to be meddled with — he just saw the heavens. Contemplating the stars and what they truly were felt more fulfilling than any blind reverence to an almighty god.

Stars are real, after all. Just like me. Just like By.

Byleth’s eyes fell upon his small bureau, covered in hectic papers. 

She scowled, then snorted amusedly. “Is that the plan?”

Claude stretched lethargically. “Yep. Most of it anyway.”

The plan that he still hated but, for her sake, mastered a manipulation for. Or so he hoped. He had almost forgotten that was why she came to him this morning, after everything that had already happened. Nader finding them had rumbled the status quo, but confronting their situation with each other had outright moved the Earth. For too long, Claude had been scared to broach the idea of asking Byleth to tell Dimitri the truth, and they had been on quite a journey to get to this point.

Byleth kissed his temple, blithely unaware of his thoughts. Then, nude, she calmly got up and walked over to his desk to scrutinise his scribbles. 

“I hope you appreciate all the work I put in,” he called to her.

“I’m sure I will if I manage to read them,” she replied with a wry smile.

He smirked. “Ouch!”

As a student, his handwriting and note-taking had been even more hazardous. Worse, in fact. Claude would be struck with moments of brilliance and scrawl them on the nearest parchment he could find, regardless of what else might have been on it, leading to utter madness when he tried to piece them together later. 

Byleth flicked her shimmering hair over her shoulder, analysing his map. He observed her a moment, pondering how relaxed she was despite their precarious situation.

“Your notes are chaotic, aren’t they?”

He snorted. “At least I kept them all in one language this time.”

Walking up behind her, he wrapped his arms around her waist. A tremble overcame her, and she leaned back against him.

Claude loved Byleth; he had been in love with her for years and might have gone the rest of his life, never uttering a word. All it had taken was her confession that she wanted him, “even just once”, to unravel his resolve. They had their one night, and that night turned into several “just one more times”. He could still remember the sound of her voice the first time she uttered the words his entire soul had craved to hear.

“I love you,” Claude said, abruptly.

Something in his voice must have unnerved her as she stopped reading and glanced up at him. “Is everything alright?”

His dream had ripped open an old wound that had long since been healed – not least by Byleth’s miraculous return from the dead. Still, he recalled the hurt of those days. Looking over his plans and plots for the next attack, he realised how deep the scar went. The fear that he might lose her again remained. It always would, he wagered.

Seeming to sense that he wished to say no more, Byleth settled for kissing him under the chin. “I love you, too.”

She put the paper she was holding down. 

“So this will be another one of your ‘disguise’ plans?”

She was clearly trying to take his mind off whatever was bothering him. 

“I’m pleased you were able to decipher it so quickly,” he said, allowing her to do so.

“As am I. Almost as bad as your homework. Your arguments were excellent once I’d worked out what you’d actually said.”

“Once a Teach, always a Teach, eh?”

“It’s your mother and council at home that I feel sorry for. Having to read your dispatches must be a nightmare.”

“Ouch!” Claude exclaimed with a mocked offence. “What next? Are you going to set lines for me to complete?”

“Don’t tempt me.” Her arm rested atop his, linking their fingers. “Half of these are drafts of the same scenario. Did you settle on the best set-up quickly, then?”

He kissed the back of her neck. 

“Quick enough.”

There was no need to tell her about all the hair-pulling, checking over everything like a madman.

Byleth picked up another paper.

“So, correct me if I’m wrong—”

“Hm?”

“We will pretend that Ernest Village is being attacked from the east by bandits. Leonie, Ashe and a select number of others will fill Aliprand in on the plan: pretend that the village is being raided and Aliprand requires back-up. I then travel with my battalion’ undercover’ to answer the plea for help —” Claude hugged her tighter, still not liking this part. “—But making it obvious it’s me.” 

He nodded.

“When the mages attack me,” she continued. “Aliprand will travel from the east, the main army from the west, and you overhead, waiting at the intended spot.”

He pecked her nape again, feeling her shiver. “That’s about the size of it.”

“Are you sure you’ll be safe coming from above?”

Claude rolled his eyes. Typical. “Says the woman sandwiching herself between two rocks and a hard place.”

She lightly swatted his hand. “Don’t start that again!”

“I won’t be able to land,” he conceded. “Fortunately, Jamilah and I are excellent in confined spaces so we won’t need to.” 

Weaving between tight canyons was a sport for her back in Almyra, just as target practice was for Claude.

He slowly kissed behind Byleth’s ear. “My question is whether we’re taking prisoners. If I could get my hands on just one of these mages, I could have a whale of a time questioning them.”

“If we can capture them.”

“If we can capture them.”

So far, they had only managed to analyse their corpses. There was nothing remarkable about these enemies who lurked in the dark physically, and the dead don’t talk. Any attempt to capture the mages alive had been embarrassingly unsuccessful, thanks to their annoying habit of using smoke and mirrors and demonic beasts to escape. Odesse, one of their leaders, summoned flying monsters to distract them while he quietly slipped away. Hopefully, catching him– and the rest of his mysterious cohort– in a confined space would make it impossible for a beast to be summoned on the ground.

Claude expected they had a few more tricks up their sleeves to try and escape.

“If nothing else, it would be good to know what they hope to achieve or what any of this has been about! Why did Jakob von Bergliez agree to help them? Why did Edelgard before him? I still have so many questions – and I intend to get answers.”

“You always do in the end.”

Claude rested one hand over her bare abdomen, planting further kisses behind her ear. She turned, wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a slow kiss.

“We should get our clothes back on,” he said, at last, stroking the small of her back. As much as he enjoyed their prolonged state of nakedness, he grew wearier of movement outside his tent. Though he had tied the entrance shut, the oncoming sun would bring more pleas towards his little corner of the camp. He was the king, after all. Nader had already barged in; someone else could easily do so. 

“As much as I enjoy this, this will be hard to explain away if someone other than Nader tries to rip open my tent’s door.”

Byleth reluctantly agreed after a few more kisses.

They proceeded to dress, similar to how she had helped him before. Helping one another in and out of their official costumes had become a habit. Another intimacy they had come to share.

Life without her now would be as cold as a desert night. 

To rend them asunder would extinguish a part of his very soul. Their shame and guilt seemed a pittance compared to surrendering their bond entirely. He knew how nonsensical it sounded. How mad! But he was beyond reason now. 

We’ve gone too far to turn back now.

Even if he were to live for one hundred years and achieve his goals and more, happiness would forever elude him if he could not share it with Byleth.

It would be an empty victory without her by my side. 

But, for now, they had to be cautious. Very much so. Claude was reticent despite knowing it was for the best. Until he and Byleth could properly sit down and discuss how they would handle their personal affairs, they needed to pause their exuberant sex life. 

Watching as she tied his sash, he voiced his thoughts.

“This has been wonderful,” Claude prefaced huskily. “But we can’t slip up like this again. Nader won’t say anything but–“

“There’s a good chance others are getting suspicious?” she completed for him.

He nodded.

She did, too. “Actually, I’ve been thinking, too.”

“Oh?”

“Since the ambush at Afanc falls,” she recounted, cheeks glowing a little. “Well, it feels like we haven’t… stopped. If you know what I mean. What I’m getting at.” 

A chortle escaped him, knowing exactly what she was ‘getting at’. “Yes, I know.”

Sex had been an integral part of their relationship from the beginning. Claude had never considered himself a hypersexual person before – despite what others weirdly thought of him – and had been quite surprised by the raw concupiscence he roused in Byleth and vice versa. But they didn’t just have fun with it; it was something more profound. Just thinking about that point when he was right there, inside her, filled him with terrific, indescribable completeness. 

Still, they had always been discreet and only stole moments, few and far between. Until that night of the Miach Forest attack, that was. Since then, they had barely gone a day without being intimate. Something about that particular battle had shaken Byleth, he could tell. Claude asked her about it shortly afterwards, and her response was vague: 

“I realised how fleeting life is and how alive you make me feel.” 

He knew there was more to it but decided to let sleeping goddesses lie. She would tell him one day when she was ready. But, for now, he would take pleasure in the knowledge that he was filling her with life.

“We probably should reign it in, shouldn’t we?” he conceded. They would share a bed every night if it were up to him. One day, he hoped. Just not yet. “At least until we’re out of the field.”

Byleth gave a hesitant murmur of agreement. 

“Let’s take tea outside,” she suggested, eying his set and the earlier abandoned teas she had brewed. “For the fresh air.”

Claude raised an eyebrow at the sudden gear change.

“Tea out in the cold open for all the world to see,” he mused humorously, rubbing his hands together before pulling on his gloves. Truthfully, though, it was a tactical decision he could not disapprove of after the morning they had had. “A prudent suggestion. May I suggest that you play up how weary you find me once we’re out there, as though being in my presence is a chore?”

Byleth tittered. “Play up?” they both said in unison, and she kissed him. “It is a chore, just not for the reasons they think,” she added.

As the army leaders, it was expected that they would spend a lot of time together without inviting any speculation that they might be sleeping together. In many ways, they had got by on Byleth being a religious leader of a notoriously straight-laced faith. But even though the Archbishop-Queen seemed beyond reproach in most people’s eyes, it was a crutch they could not lean on forever. Despite the perceived ‘prudishness’ of Fódlan and its religion, Claude felt that people had a less than flattering view of him. 

He could hear Nader’s prurient warnings again:

“I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them are already talking among themselves.”

Probably, Claude conceded. Likely. 

“…and if they blab to the wrong person…”

Our two continents would rock.

The image of Dimitri loomed in his mind. If this got back to him before they could get a handle on what to do next…

It wasn’t a war that Claude feared — it was breaking Dimitri’s brain. Memories of his actions at Gronder still haunted nightmares. That instability. Danger. Unquenchable thirst for vengeance.

Would he start a war or just run me through with Areadbhar immediately?

Claude still hadn’t worked an answer, but he’d bet on the latter. He knew he would likely face the Tempest’s retaliation, one way or another. Dimitri idolised peace too much to enter into a futile war over venial matters. No, the Tempest King only blew across battlefields for grandiose issues.

Claude couldn’t give up on Byleth, though.

Brewing the tea, Claude surveyed his personal tea supply. Unfortunately, he wasn’t a massive tea connoisseur like Byleth and only possessed half a dozen blends. The chamomile tea was running low, and he didn’t think she’d drink pine needle tea; he preferred earthier, flowery flavours over the fruiter, sweeter ones she liked. 

Then again… 

“Are you still off sweet teas?” She had brewed ginger instead of citrus earlier, he noticed.

“Mm-hm,” she brimmed, preoccupied with tidying the papers on his desk, readying them into a carriable pile. “Oh yes. I don’t know what it is, but…” she grumbled in discomfort. “It just tastes wrong in my mouth at the moment. It’s not just tea. I have some really nice conserves that I can’t bear to touch. Strawberry, blueberry, even the marmalade; I’ve given them away to Lysithea. At least she’ll enjoy them.” A glazed look overcame her then. “I wish I’d known before we set out. I’ve been craving a lot of woody or spicy foods. For example, I’ve been hankering for that cinnamon blend the Mofisian merchant sells at Garreg Mach but didn’t bring nearly enough–!”

She snapped out of her tea trance. A thought passed through Claude’s mind, briefly, but was immediately dismissed.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Please.” Claude’s heart burned with affection. Byleth wasn’t a massive talker, so he found it cute when she fell into absentminded tangents. “If you’re still feeling a bit sick, we can just stick to the ginger.”

She gave him a grateful look. “That sounds lovely.”

Once the water was finally boiled and the tea brewed, they walked outside. Nader was nowhere in sight. While some people turned to watch them and a few offered to help, no one seemed any the wiser as to what might have been happening while their king’s tent had been closed off. 

Claude assumed they knew better than to gossip about their shah in earshot if they did know. Despite the first signs of snow, they had a brazier to keep them warm as they sat at a small table on the green. 

“We can always move back inside if you’re starting to feel cold, Your Grace,” he assured her once they were seated. As they were now firmly out in public. “For the sake of our alliance, I see it as my duty to care for you.”

He held her midnight-blue gloved hand to place a quick, genteel kiss upon it. The only acceptable display of affection he could get away with in public.

“You’ve started a trend, you know.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Trend?”

Byleth wiggled her hand in front of his face. “Hand kissing! Since that antic of yours at the last strategy meeting, every Almyran I exchange ‘good day’ with drops to their knees to pay it tribute, even women. If I tell them no, they look upset.

How amusing! Claude snorted. Still, this was a gift. “I apologise if it’s making you uncomfortable.”

“So, I suppose it’s amusing,” her words echoing his thoughts. He knew what her following words would be, too, by the gleam in her ethereal green eyes. “Does it make you uncomfortable, Your Royal Highness?”

“On the contrary,” he replied. “I’m thrilled to have instilled good manners in my soldiers.” It was better than some of the racist remarks he had overheard when they first arrived in Fódlan. “In fact, it’s a habit I intend to encourage,” he added cheekily.

“You’re terrible sometimes,” she scolded. Lowering her eyelids thoughtfully upon her cup of ginger. “Thank goodness that’s the only thing they’re copying from you.”

Claude couldn’t help himself, leaning close to all but mouth his witticism. “Indeed. I’ve certainly kissed a lot more than your hand.”

Byleth was unflustered, though her eyes showed some amusement. “Behave yourself, sire. Remember what we agreed earlier.”

Yes. Reign it in. “Until the battle is done, I’ll try to make fewer ‘blue’ jokes.”

The tiniest of smiles spread across her lips.

“You may joke if you wish,” she said between sips. “Just be mindful that sometimes when you do, I feel a little ‘flushed’. It’ll be tough, not having my ‘usual outlets'”.

Claude adjusted his chair buoyantly, trying not to laugh.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Teach.”