Chapter 2: The Wolf’s Eye

“Is Sir Nera not joining us, Your Grace?” Lorenz asked.

Byleth shook her head as she took her seat. She had ordered Nera to take the morning patrol, so he was not due back until that afternoon. Since he was the Royal Marshal, she couldn’t trust that he wouldn’t somehow be relaying her actions back to Dimitri as a means to curry favour, and she didn’t want this plan to make it back to her husband lest he react in an… undesirable manner.

At least with her former students, they would stay quiet even if they didn’t like it.

“Oof, you’ll hear no complaints from me!” Catherine announced, stretching her arms behind her back. “There’re too many cooks in the kitchen now, with that high honcho. I’m sure Dimitri meant well sending him, but Sir Nera’s chancer, y’know.”

Ashe took a sip of tea. “He’s probably looking after Lynette’s best interests.”

“Ha! From what I hear, Lynette’s perfectly capable of looking after herself these days,” the female knight said. “You’d sure have your hands full.”

Byleth gave Ashe a knowing look and steered the topic on. “Sir Nera’s troops, while appreciated, are still green. Best they do what Dimitri sent them to do; support the rear guard. This meeting is for those of us who will hold a key role in the upcoming battle.”

“Still,” Lysithea said, gesturing around the room. “Even if we discount the fresh western Faerghus knights, this gathering of ours is excessively tiny compared to others we’ve had.”

That was true. Nevertheless, everyone who needed to be there was there. Byleth and Claude, of course. Leonie and Ashe had an initial role in this ruse, being the ones to liaise with Byleth’s old mercenary company. Then Lysithea, Catherine, Cyril, Lorenz, Sahm, Heydar —

Heydar. A mixed bag, Byleth thought. He was the handsome, swaggering son of a satrap. Of an age with his shah, he had been one of Claude’s childhood bullies. However, he folded like parchment during Khalid’s Succession War and had been a member of his Immortals ever since. Though Heydar was a womanizer and possessed one of the filthiest mouths in Almyra, he was an exceptional marksman and proficient commander. It made sense Claude brought him.

Then, finally, there was Nader.

The Archbishop kept her eyes forward, keen to avoid his eyes and watched as the gremory unwrapped the fourth speciality macaron she’d eaten since arriving. 

At least my sweeties aren’t going to waste…

One drawback to giving Lysithea that supply of sweets was that she couldn’t make them last to save her life. She feasted on them. All. The. Time. Munch, munch, munch. Fingers covered in meringue. Despite sitting on the opposite side of the table, the sugared-almond scent made Byleth feel sick. She held her cup of ginger tea directly under her nose to block out the assault on her nostrils.

Cyril watched her, concerned. “Hm, you ought to slow down a little, Lysithea.”

“Don’t worry about me!” she replied, wiping her fingers on a napkin. “I told you before, I know my limits and I’m not going to choke.”

“So said every other maiden before she was, literally, blue in the face,” Lorenz said, shaking his head. “Risk of asphyxiation aside, you ought to eat a more balanced diet.” 

“Hm! I eat plenty of vegetables. Disgusting though they are.”

Leonie cackled. “Oh, really? I’d bet you wouldn’t even recognise a carrot if we flicked one in your face right now.”

Lysithea grumbled.

“Lorenz’s right, ya know, though,” Catherine chimed in, a rare instance of taking the Viceroy’s side. “Carry on like this and your face will have spots all over it!”

Sahm bleated out a laugh. “Spots like toad!”

“Not just spots. There’s nervousness, headaches…” Lorenz said, counting the issues on his fingers.

“Not to mention cavities,” Leonie added. 

“Ah-ha! I’m amazed it hasn’t already happened the way you go at it, Lysithea,” Catherine finished, sniggering.

Lysithea’s nostrils flared and she practically squalled. “Ugh! Stop it, stop it! Every time! Why?! Why do you all treat me like a child, even after all this time?!”

Cyril shook his head. “Yeah, okay, come on, guys! Stop teasin’ her!”

A silence followed.

Looking up, Byleth realised that everyone’s eyes had fallen on Claude. This was normally his cue to make some harmless quip at Lysithea’s expense, something cute and quirky. But nothing came. Instead, he sat beside Byleth in quiet contemplation. He didn’t even look up from his papers let alone notice the attention had fallen on him. Lids heavy, he read, scribbled and muttered to himself.

Noticing the crease in her lover’s brow made Byleth’s chest feel tight. Though they had discussed their strategy ad nauseam yesterday before parting ways, Claude was still worried. As though he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something.

All Byleth wanted to do was comfort him. “Claude…?”

“Hm?” he hummed. Another moment passed before Claude looked at Byleth, then over to Lorenz, fuddled by all the attention. “What?”

Leonie gasped, amazed. “Wow, you weren’t even listening? You can usually sense a good Lysithea jab at fifty paces!”

“Heh…” The Almyran king took a sip of tea and returned to his papers. Quiet. Everyone’s cups and saucers clattered awkwardly. He glanced up again. “Sorry to disappoint you all.”

Lorenz pursed his lips, uneasily.

“You’re being uncommonly taciturn, Claude. It’s very disconcerting.”

“Yeah, I almost want you to tease me now,” Lysithea mumbled.

“Aww, well, if I think of a good one, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

Claude winked and wore his ever-smiling lips, but his voice was half-hearted.

Byleth’s heart felt aflame. She hated worrying. Though they had agreed to be more circumspect with regard to their physical relationship, she couldn’t help herself. Without hesitation, her hand reached out for him beneath the table. Slow, light and subtle – and against better judgement, Byleth ran her little finger along Claude’s thigh…

He jolted against the sudden contact, banging his other knee against the table.

Her blood burned with guilt, especially when he threw her an irritated glance. Byleth didn’t want to frustrate him. She only wanted to comfort him.

Reassure him.

She began to withdraw her hand—

But Claude caught it, stopping its retreat. Pressing his palm against it, he rubbed his thumb along her knuckles lovingly.

‘I’m sorry. Don’t worry,’ the gesture said. Claude linked their fingers tightly. ‘I love you.’

Byleth gave him a squeeze. ‘I love you, too.’

Nader thumped the table with his open palm.

The lovers let go, startled. The attendees jumped, alarmed. The playful needling of Lysithea, completely forgotten.

“So…” The ‘Undefeated’ drew out his syllables and forced a jovial tone. “Is there any chance of hearing this stratagem of yours, janob’e-ahli. Preferably this side of winter, or at least before lunch?”

Claude put on a cheery tone. “Just making sure I’m satisfied, spahbad.”

“Ah, satisfied. I thought it was too late in the game for second thoughts.”

There was a cold flash in Claude’s eyes.

Nader leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “Someone’s in a grumpy mood, isn’t he?”

Claude rubbed his eyes. “I swear to god, old man…”

Byleth’s stomach knotted.

They’re on bad terms. All because of me.

She grounded herself by stroking Claude’s knee again.

“You’ve worked yourself to death over this,” Byleth said softly, secretly circling the joint through his sheepskin trousers. “We have to press forward.”

He nodded, leaning into her touch. “Right as always, Teach. It’s now or never.”

The Archbishop-Queen nodded, satisfied. 

That was when she dared a glance at Nader. She rarely had trouble discerning others’ thoughts, and Claude’s mentor’s visage was filled with resentment reserved only for her. Byleth was grateful for what her old mercenary allies called her ‘resting demon face,’ or else she’d probably be squirming beneath his stoic stare.

It reminded her of Jeralt.

Sothis, what would he think if he could see me right now?

“What have you in mind, Claude?” asked Lorenz, prompting a fatigued chuckle to escape the Shah. The Count blenched. “Eh, not a promising start.”

“Oh, thee of little faith, Lorenz!” Claude’s voice remained arch, but his emerald eyes were dull and ruminative. “I won’t lie to you, my friends; this I struggled with. It’s a high-risk strategy, one that Teach rode me hard to make work—” Nader snorted. Byleth fought the urge to glare, all while Claude ignored him, “—but, I think we’re there. This is the best we’re going to get. This is the quickest way to smoke our enemies out, once and for all.”

Lysithea fidgeted in her chair. “So… what is it?”

“You recall our plan to use a feint and some bait to lure them out, right? We think they’re here, hiding out in the caves system here—”

Byleth could see Claude’s body was in tension as he clumsily tapped on the map.

“— with the greatest concentration being at Gwalchmai Ravine. That’s how they keep evading us, feeling into them to avoid capture each time they’re routed. So, we need to lure them into a false sense of security, and then spring a trap. Thanks to Cyril and Ashe’s scouting efforts, we’re pretty confident that there is a mile stretch here where there are no caves to enable an escape on either side. That is where we’ll kettle them.”

“You recall our plan to use a feint and some bait to lure them out, right? We think they’re here, hiding out in the caves system—”

Byleth could see Claude’s body was in tension as he clumsily tapped on the map.

“— with the greatest concentration being at Gwalchmai Ravine. That’s how they keep evading us, feeling into them to avoid capture each time they’re routed. So, we need to lure them into a false sense of security, and then spring a trap.”

His finger moved to the narrowest point, where the cliffs became too narrow for a large army to pass through.

“Thanks to Cyril and Ashe’s scouting efforts, we’re pretty confident that there is a mile stretch here where there are no caves to enable an escape on either side. That is where we’ll kettle them.”

Everyone leaned over.

“I see. Dare I ask how we get them there?” Lorenz asked.

Byleth’s mouth curled into a smile.

“With a carrot.”

Hesitantly, Claude marked the spot with a smooth mauve token marked with the Crest of Flames.

Come the eleventh hour, everyone was clear about what their roles would be. Ashe and Leonie would go to Ernest within the next few days to treat with the still-named Jeralt’s mercenaries, led by Captain Aliprand. Together, they would advance from the east. To the west, Lorenz would lead the Fódlan vanguard with Lysithea leading the left flank and Cyril on the right. Finally, Claude would retreat to the top of the ravine along with Nader and the rest of the hazahran-pasban to attack from above.

It was a plan that especially roused Heydar. “Swoop down and use these pallid shits for target practice. I like it!”

“I’m pleased you approve,” Claude said with a firm nod. “Especially since you will be leading half my battalion, stationed on the south side of the valley.”

Heydar was immediately taken aback. Sitting forward, he snuck a look at Nader, as though frightened of his reaction but the general had none.

“Me, sire?” the younger man queried. “I’m your second?”

“You object?”

“N-Not at all.” Heydar’s eyes bounced between his king and the spahbad, trying to pick his words carefully. At least, he lowered his head, utterly humbled. Beating his chest with his fist, he said, “I’m honoured to be selected, janob’e-ahli. By Hojir, I will not let you down.”

“Of course, you won’t.” The Shah then gestured his hand towards Nader, almost dismissively. “Meanwhile, the old man and I will take a position in the north.”

That was when they got to Byleth’s role.

Worry broke out across the Fódlans’ faces as soon as they realised she would be the carrot, standing in the centre, boxed in between the two cliff-sides. Still, she held fast against their protests, just as she had with Claude’s.

If he couldn’t convince me, none of them has a chance.

“I have weighed this decision carefully,” Byleth told her concerned friends. “The way I see it. We need to know where the enemy is hiding. To find that out, we need to lure them out. What will lure them out? Me. They tried to take me out last month, they’ll try again if we let them believe they can get me.”

Lorenz sucked the inside of his cheeks. “Your bravery is commendable, Your Grace, but is it wise to put yourself at such a high risk?”

“Yeah, I mean…” Leonie hesitated, brimming with worry. “I mean, like Heydar there, I’m flattered you’re putting so much faith in me. Liaising with Jeralt’s old crew-” Despite her concerns, she still smirked like an excited child, “-but, knowing this is the plan? That you’ll be all alone? Well, I feel I should be with you.”

Byleth shook her head. “You know I’m more than capable of defending myself.”

“You’re still just a person, though! What if something goes wrong? What if Ashe and I are held up at Ernest and can’t reach you in time? What if—What if we fail?”

“You won’t fail.”

Byleth linked her fingers together, forcing a tiny smile; channelling her ‘inner Rhea’ was often the best course of action in moments like this.

“I have every faith in you both.”

“Faith is all very well, but things can go wrong in the moment,” Lysithea said gravely. “I know I wasn’t there, but we all know how dangerous that ambush was—”

“I was there,” Ashe’s voice cut across the table. “The only one here who was there from the start, I might add. Claude and I were patrolling the area when they attacked.” He gave the Almyran king an unsteady look, as though reliving the moment. “Everything went from cool calm to blazing fire within an instant. They didn’t only wait for our numbers to be small — they waited until Lady Byleth was alone. Isolated.”

Byleth leaned forward, imploring him to see her point. “That’s just it, Ashe! We need to use that against them.”

“I understand that…” The archer’s gaze shifted between her and Claude a few times. “To be honest, I still can’t quite believe we made it with as few casualties as we did. It was your combined efforts that ensured they did not get the better of us in the end but, with all due respect, we could’ve lost one or both of you forever.”

Those words struck Byleth, right in the place it hurt. Preserving her infamous, emotionless expression was hard at that moment as the intrusive thoughts invaded her mind again, dreadful memories eternally imprinted on her brain. That moment still haunted her dreams, waking her in cold sweats, and leaving her inconsolable.

Byleth rested her hand on her heart.

She could spare her loved ones from the agony of death when she turned back time. Whether butchered by an axe or sliced by a sword, rotted by magic or felled by a bow, Byleth could erase it all and leave them without a scratch on them.

But she remembered, overspilling with dreadful knowledge.

Byleth’s eyes fell on Claude’s chest, where the fiend pierced his throbbing heart. When they were intimate, her hands would find that point. She stroked the hairs and admired the unbreached skin. She swept her tongue across or peppered her kisses upon that spot, over and over, as though polishing a precious jewel. There was no trace, no sign, no proof of what had happened there, only his warm flesh and a beating chest.

Often, Claude would reciprocate, caressing the sole scar Byleth’s body bore — the one in the valley of her breasts, beneath which lay her silent heart.

She loved his heartbeat. How it sounded, how it felt. Hammering away, humming steadily. Slow when calm, wild during their acts of love. How could his heart be so strong yet fragile at the same time? Why did his life rely utterly on whether that organ did what hers could not?

Beat.

When Byleth lay her back against Claude’s chest, be it during sweet embrace or scorching sex, its pounding moored her to him, as though it was inside her, too, and it was strong enough for the two of them.

“Never have I ever felt more validated, Teach,” Claude whispered.

It jerked her from her long train and she immediately scowled, annoyed that he would prod her now.

But then his index finger drifted along her thigh. It mapped out the design of her stockings, something he so enjoyed doing, as he searched for an anchor. She helped him, placing her hand in his again. He claimed it and gave it another squeeze. 

Peeling her eyes away from her lover, Byleth turned back to Ashe.

“Don’t worry. I can assure you, I had far more control over that situation than most realise. This time will be no different. So long as we stay focused and act our parts convincingly.”

Thank you, Sothis, for the Divine Pulse and your Shield.

She nodded at Claude. “I believe in His Royal Highness’s plan.”

“Ha!” He let out that scoff absentmindedly, as though they were at tea rather than a war council. “No pressure, then.”

She clutched his hand again before letting go.

“Teach is right,” Claude said, giving Ashe his ‘winning’ smile. “Have a little faith, Lord Gaspard! I know you’re a worrywart – heck, you could give Ignatz a run for his money – but you’re an important cog in this scheme.”

Ashe nodded passively, looking to Byleth. “If the Queen is certain, this is the only way…”

“I am,” she replied immediately.

The man nodded stiffly, his timbre low as he spoke. “Then, I trust you, Lady Byleth.”

“I do too!” Leonie said, more enthused. “You and Claude have pulled off plenty of neat tricks. I’m just glad to be the one reaping the benefits.”

“That’s the spirit, Leonie!” Catherine bellowed, slapping the huntress on the back. Turning to Byleth, she added, “There’s no way we’ll run into trouble with me there with you. After all, I swore to Lady Rhea I’d protect you – if I let you die, I’ll never be able to face her again.”

“And I’ll be sure to get back to you in time!” Leonie said, punching the air as though they had already won. “Can’t face the Captain in the afterlife if I fail to do that.”

Byleth smiled uneasily. “Fight for your own life, Catherine. That’ll ensure our victory more certainly than any promise to defend me.”

She then looked at Leonie.

The last thing we need is another reminder of her promise to Jeralt.

“Same goes for you, too.”

Byleth didn’t want anyone here to fight for her and her alone, be it from promises to others or out of loyalty towards her.

They should fight for victory – and for themselves.

Claude gripped the white wyvern to represent the Almyran vanguard, tapping it against the map, directly above where Byleth would lure the enemy.

“Her Grace won’t be alone. Lest you forget, we’ll be right on top of her.”

Nader took a derisive breath.

Byleth couldn’t help but respond this time. “You have thoughts, spahbad?”

He was surprised that Byleth addressed him directly. Then, the smile he gave her reminded her of a young Claude, as did his voice; every word that tripped from his tongue was a sleight of hand.

“We all have ‘thoughts,’ Your Grace.”

He swiftly stood, grabbing the white wyvern token.

“We Almyrans ride saragens, larger than your Fódlan wyverns, and Jamilah is largest of all. When the battle begins and we come swooping in, will our Shah leap from his mount mid-flight and fight in close quarters?”

Nader stared directly at Claude.

“If so, then with all due respect, I would call that unwise. Your strength is in your bow arm and Jamilah’katabiyan agility.”

Claude rolled his eyes. “We’ll remain in flight, Nader.”

He snatched the token back, only for Byleth to pull it gently from Claude’s fingers.

Byleth placed it back where it was. “Indeed, His Royal Highness and his entourage will not land.”

Desperate to defuse the situation, filled the tension with a fuller explanation.

“Remember, the idea is to box the enemy in, dissuading them from retreating into the cave system,” she explained. “And if they do, we’ll see where they go — that’s why we need to split you two up, Ashe, Cyril—”

She looked between the two young men.

“Ashe will focus on the east, Cyril on the west. If you can ensure we capture some of them — then we can question them. If not, then at least we’ll know once and for all where their hideout is.”

Lysithea tensed up; Byleth knew of the untold pain these mages had caused House Ordelia.

“It’d be preferable to capture them,” she said. “Even one would be enough for me.”

Lorenz nodded. “These fiends caused untold misery towards my people — and just after we had worked so hard to rebuild following the war.”

His hand balled around a small locket, hanging from around his neck.

“For the sake of the world my daughter, Susannah, will one day inherit, this must end.”

Susie. She was barely a few months old when this war started. Though Hilda sent frequent updates, telling Lorenz of anything and everything Susie did that he might want to know, being parted from his young family had to be gruelling.

“We’re all fighting for different reasons,” Claude said, casting his eyes around the table of Fódlans and Almyrans. “Find what motivates you, what drives you forward and then cling to that with everything you are.”

That the sincere, dulcet tone he spoke in could rally any soul.

It never fails to rally mine…

Claude’s eyes came to rest on Byleth, his expression soft. It set her heart alight.

“If we all do that, then nothing our enemies do will break us,” he finished.

Byleth couldn’t stop a smile.

This next battle didn’t terrify her half as much as the ones that were to come. She knew that. Telling Dimitri that she wished to end their marriage would be the next battle but by no means the last. There was getting him to agree, then handing over her position as Archbishop, and leaving Fódlan — it would all take time. She knew she and Claude wouldn’t be together tomorrow or even the day after.

But I’ve made my choice.

Byleth felt strong. Even if it took years, knowing that at the end there would be Claude, that they would finally be together, hardened her resolve. One day, their anxiety would be calm, and their sorrow would be joy…

Nader clapped, overenthusiastically.

“Lovely words, Your Royal Highness. Beautiful, even.” He stopped, refolding his arms. “So, when do we take action on this scheme of yours?”

“We’ll all need to be in place by the fifth day of the Ethereal Moon. Leonie and Ashe should prepare to leave within the next two days,” the king replied quickly, nodding towards them. “Think you can manage that?”

Leonie cocked her head to the side, smirking. “Ha! No worries. I’m a light traveller anyhow. Think you’ll need much, Ashe?”

The young Lord of Gaspard shook his head. “I travel lightly, too. Besides, we’re supposed to look like locals, right? We probably shouldn’t take much.”

“Good,” Claude said with a nod, continuing. “The first wave of hazahran-pasban will leave tomorrow.”

A wave of murmurs rumbled between the Almyran soldiers. Heydar held up his hand to quiet them. “Tomorrow, janob’e-janob’e-ahli?”

“Yes, our two groups will travel in waves. The first group will leave tomorrow evening to begin setting up.”

Nader scoffed. “I see. I suppose it’ll be me travelling with this ‘first wave?’”

Byleth closed her eyes, knowing what was coming next. They’d discussed it at tea yesterday, after all.

Claude shook his head. “Actually, no. I will.”

Astonishment washed across the table like a wave.

“You, Kh—!” Nader threw Byleth a confused look. “Your Highness? That… That was not what I expected.” 

Claude opting to put a suitable distance between himself and the Archbishop-Queen was doubtless a surprise, Byleth knew. Nader probably expected his king to send him away, so he could continue to spend time with Byleth without having to deal with Nader’s judgement.

“Have you ever known me to be ‘predictable,’ Nader?” the young king asked.

Nader gave no response.

“Order point, shahshahran!” Sahm raised his hand, reminding Byleth of the old days at the Academy. “If shah leaves camp, will not the enemy be caused suspicion?”

The fudged grammatical ordering warmed Byleth’s heart; it reminded her so much of a young Petra. Glancing at Ashe, she noted a bitter remembrance in his eyes, too.

Byleth wished her High Almyran was polished enough to respond to him in a way that he would understand. It would be nice to freely converse with all her Almyran allies as easily as she did with her Fódlan friends. Though, in Sahm’s case, even his High Almyran was imperfect. His primary language was a local tongue from southern Almyra. As Claude put it, Sahm spoke three languages fluently: the Giv dialect, numbers and his axe.

Cyril leapt in to assist, muttering something in the other man’s ear.

Upon leaning back, Sahm slapped his knee with realisation. “Ah, fahmedan’ana… Shah wants to be rekebanum.”

Cyril nodded. “Yep, ‘confusing.’ That’s right, huh, Claude?”

Claude snapped his fingers at them. “Sharp as always, Cyril! If I leave camp, it’ll be sure to grab our Dark Mage friends’ attention. So, we’ll need to convince them I’m withdrawing for reasons beyond my control.”

He and Byleth had discussed it yesterday — and this was a part of Claude’s plan she was not looking forward to.

“You could hurt yourself.”

“Ha! So, it’s fine for you to be at the bottom of a ravine as bait, but I can’t fling myself off Jamilah to create a misdirection?”

“It’s dangerous, Claude.”

“I’ve done it before. Remember, in Almyra when—!”

“Yes.”

Byleth remembered — and she recalled rewinding time, as the first time he broke his collarbone. Even the second dislocated his elbow, but Claude’s crest activated and he popped it back in without a second thought.

“But your crest’s power may not activate. At least allow me to stand watch, just in case.”

“In case… what? Will you stand underneath and catch me?”

“I—I just want to be there. To make sure you’re all right. In case you hurt yourself.”

“Hm, okay then-” 

He had hidden his coy smirk behind the rim of his tea cup. 

“-then how about we make an afternoon of it? We can scope out the ravine to get a better visual on where we’ll be.”

“Very well. I can borrow Tabitha from Ashe…”

“Nah, I think it’s best we ride one wyvern. Jami disappears into the glare of the sun and camouflages against the clouds, so it’d be safer.”

Byleth’s eyes widened. 

“I ride with you on Jamilah?” 

“Why not?”

“You know she doesn’t like me…”

Claude shook his head.

“I’ll give you that Jami’s a jealous child, but she’d never wilfully harm her beloved father’s beloved.”

He revealed his confident grin to her. 

“Besides, she didn’t throw you off last time.”

Last time. Miach Forest. It always came back to that night. A forest aflame, extinguished only by the oncoming downpour. Byleth hadn’t noticed at first, overcome with kissing and clinging to every part of Claude. Devouring his lips and gripping his hair, she only realised how heavy the rain was once it had drenched them both. It washed them down and brought them back to the present moment. 

It washed them down, bringing them back to the present moment. 

Claude whistled for Jamilah, beckoning from where she’d been rooting in the trees to swoop down and pick them up. They knew they’d have to hurry, that their allies would be frantic. 

Byleth was heedful of the pearl-coloured wyvern’s ‘jealousy.’ Several times in Almyra and at Garreg Mach, Jami would try to push her way into their embraces like an angry, attention-seeking cat. Snorting smoke through her nostrils, her massive citrine eyes would speak a warning to Byleth every time: “My human! Mine!” 

But there was none of this that day. 

When Claude pulled Byleth onto Jamilah’s back, the wyvern accepted her second rider with little more than a shrug, grunt and snort. No pushing, no bucking, and no awkward twists to scare Byleth. She just spread her wings and off they went.

As Byleth clung to Claude’s chest and buried her face in his shoulder, she pondered what had changed.

Wyverns had poor eyesight, so their other senses were heightened. Remembering that gave Byleth her answer: the ‘Claudish’ scent. Jami knew the scent of the one who hatched and reared her. Her ‘father.’ That smell likely pacified the creature whenever she was frightened or angry. That day, completely covered and filled with Claude’s essence, Byleth must’ve seemed little more than an appendage to Jamilah.

Byleth shook her head.

“It’ll be hard to recreate those circumstances, Claude.”

His smirk had widened, knowing what she meant. Then, leaning in to whisper in her ear, making her frisson with excitement.

“There are less coital ways to pass my scent to you, too, By.”

Byleth shivered and sipped her lukewarm ginger tea.

“In short, I’ll be creating the illusion not that I’ve retreated, but that I’ve had to retreat,” Claude concluded.

Lorenz shook his head. “Hmph. Very well, then. With a sense of dread, I ask, what ‘illusion’ will this be, Claude?”

“I’ll fake an injury,” he replied, simply. “Supervised under the watchful eyes of our beloved Teach, here.”

Lysithea puffed out a groan. “Ugh, what sort of injury?”

Nader also nodded. “I’m quite like to know myself.”

“You’ll see by the end of the day,” Claude promised with a wink. “I’m well practised with this type of misdirection. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

“Trust you, eh? Hmmm.”

Nader chuckled sardonically. Byleth didn’t have to guess why. While the concerns he’d raised about their plan were doubtlessly legitimate, she could tell what he was really thinking about; it was her and Claude.

Their affair.

Like she and Claude, he knew this next battle wouldn’t truly be the end — that his shah would not be ‘done’ with Fódlan. He’d found them in bed together, overheard their raw emotion… Their love… Their suffering…Their helplessness… Dimitri…

Dimitri was probably his biggest concern. What little Nader knew about her husband would’ve come from hearsay: the Tempest King, who blows through a battlefield, picking it clean and leaving nothing behind. He had every right to be afraid for his beloved ‘kiddo’…

Nader knew the truth.

And he blames me.

“Yes. Trust him,” Byleth said, thinking of all of this and not knowing what else to say. “Trust me.”

Nader narrowed his eyes, assessing her, full of questions for Byleth that they both knew he wouldn’t like the answers to.

Then, suddenly, the elder man started guffawing.

“But of course!” Nader cried through his laughs. “What else can we do but trust you? Tense as this entire situation is, what choice do we have? Ha!”

The laugh rattled in his chest like a stray metal ball, clicking at his rib bones. So infectious, everyone around the table slowly joined in. Even Lorenz snickered into his handkerchief, first nervous, then heartily. It spread to everyone until only Byleth and Claude were silent.

She glanced at her lover; Claude was shaking his head, lip stuck in a resting smile that hid the irritation.

Nader continued. “You got us this far, after all. By One, what else can any of us do but trust you?”

Slowly, the room started to calm down.

Wiping away a tear, his deep hazel eyes were squarely on Byleth.“In a way, we’re all completely at your mercy, aren’t we, ashibanu-ahliah?”

Somehow, someway, Byleth managed to force a smile.

Byleth and Leonie took a walk together after the meeting.

“It’ll be good to see ol’ Aliprand again,” Leonie chuckled, a spring still in her step.

Byleth knew Leonie had spent some time with the Jeralt’s mercenaries – or ‘The Blade Breakers’ as they were toying with calling themselves – during Byleth’s absence throughout the Five-Year War.

“I hear they’ve made a fortune the last few years cleaning up the western regions of Faerghus!” Leonie finished.

“You’ve been following their work, then?”

“Of course! Haven’t you?!”

Byleth didn’t need to. Aliprand, Felauge, Mavis, Dagnae, and all the others composed mountains of letters boasting of their exploits and reminding her of their loyalty to her. After all, it made good business sense to keep up good relations with their former ally who had since risen to the status of Archbishop and Queen-Consort.

“I kinda wished I could’ve gone with them, to be honest, y’know?” Leonie blurted out suddenly. “After the war, I mean.”

“I wouldn’t have stopped you.”

Though Leonie had stopped trying to compete with Byleth, it had led way to another bad habit. Now, she seemed to think she had to learn how to do everything Byleth could do before she would consider herself ‘ready’ for the leadership position. Byleth believed Leonie was ready to hold rank in any mercenary company or even start her own crew — and told her so.

But she never listened.

“I won’t stop you if you decide to join them permanently once this is all over,” Byleth continued. “You’d make more money, probably.”

As always, Leonie came out with the same old excuses. “There’s no way I can do that! I promised Captain Jeralt that I’d look after you and I can’t do that if I’m off elsewhere with the old crew. Sure, the knights don’t pay as much as mercenary work, but in the end, my first duty is to you.”

The Archbishop-Queen scratched her cheek.

There it was again — that ‘promise.’ Byleth wondered if it was Leonie’s excuse to stay in the same old safe place. Like calling her ‘Professor,’ when she had been no one’s teacher for years. Sometimes the others would have a slip of the tongue and say ‘Professor’ instead of ‘Lady Byleth,’ but it was habitual with Leonie. She almost never called her ‘Byleth.’

Oddly, it reminded her a little of her conversation with Ashe the other day about his plan to marry Lynette because, “nobility marries for alliances, don’t they?” Picking the simple answer because the harder one was too scary.

Byleth flinched.

It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate how important Jeralt’s oath was to Leonie, but to stick to it forever would be detrimental to her progress. It was holding her back. Jeralt wouldn’t have wanted that for her, either. Byleth would miss Leonie, but the apron strings needed cutting.

She didn’t want her students to feel trapped.

Especially since I don’t intend to be here forever.

“Then I hope this mission brings you closer to your goals,” the Professor said. “It’ll be a useful experience for you either way.”

“Yeah?” Leonie picked up the same merry stride she had all morning, all puffed up and proud. “Yeah, I guess so! Anything that brings me closer to matching you!”

Byleth smirked. “ I knew you would take the mission seriously.”

With that, the huntress stopped skipping, adopting a more sensible pace. That made Byleth smile. “S-Sure! Of course, I’d take this seriously. Whatever ends the war fastest, right?”

“Right.”

Leonie bit her lip, giving her a more modest look. “But really, I’m flattered that you thought of me for this job. I mean, I know Ashe is coming too, but I appreciate your faith in me.”

Byleth smiled warmly. “Of course.”

Then, Leonie cast a glance toward a few Almyran soldiers, taking orders from Sahm. Her eyes twinkled, as though reminded of something, and she turned back to Byleth. “Hey, at the meeting earlier, did you think Nader was acting a little off with Claude?”

Byleth’s chest tightened.

“Um. Yes, I did. A bit.”

“Right? What’s that all about?” Leonie spoke with a tattletale tone. “I know it’s only Claude, and Nader’s supposed to have known him for years, but he’s still a king, right? I wonder if it’s because of what happened yesterday…?”

For a second, Byleth was sure she was going to be sick. Her entire face felt hot. “Y-Yesterday?”

“Hm-hm, Sahm told me. Apparently, they really got into it on the training ground yesterday evening.”

“Got… into it?”

“Yep! Sahm’s koine-glótta isn’t great, but there are only so many ways you can interpret the words, ‘Nader goad the king, then the king swung like an angry wyvern.’ Sounds like they’re in the middle of an argument, right? Maybe he’s worried about Claude’s pratfall plan?”

Byleth stared ahead, thoughts rushing through her mind. “Perhaps.”

Leonie wasn’t to know the ‘strain’ Claude was under. Devising the troop movements aside, there were the ‘battles’ yet to come.

“Oh, but that’s can’t be!” Leonie exclaimed. “He only found out about it at the meeting we just left, right? Must be something else… but… what? Hm. Maybe it’s all those late nights Claude’s been pulling.”

“Maybe.”

Byleth tried to sound impassive, as though the topic bored her. But all she could think about was whether others less naïve than Leonie were asking the same questions around the camp. It wasn’t like Claude to be so… careless, either. And Nader knew how to get under his king’s skin.

“You know Claude is a law unto himself when it comes to sleepy byes,” she said, trying to waive the concerns.

Leonie humphed. “Well, those two ought to get a grip, else Lorenz might tut his lips off. He’s been especially irritable the past few days.”

“Huh, why?”

“Oh, normal Susie stuff. I think Hilda sent him something and it made him homesick.”

Of course. Always Susannah.

“Go easy on him, Leonie. It’s hard for him to—”

Byleth stopped, words forgotten. The pungent odour of fish caught her nose like a cold. Nausea gripped her immediately. She spied the people on kitchen duty gutting and deboning trouts caught from the lake, chopping them into little bits to ensure they went far enough to feed the vast army.

That sight and smell were—ugh!

The Archbishop-Queen bowed over a little.

Leonie stopped and turned around. “You OK?”

“S-Sorry, the smell—it’s just…!”

“Huh? Come on, it’s just fish. You’ve never complained before.”

Byleth felt her mouth fill with saliva, making it hard to speak. “I don’t know what it is. I haven’t been sleeping well, so I might be more—!”

“You never sleep well!”

Being nagged did not help the wooziness. Thankfully, when her body lurched with a sudden retch, Leonie immediately rushed to her side and started rubbing her back.

“Um, let’s sit you down. Away from the fish guts.”

“Ugh!”

Why? Why did you have to say ‘fish guts’ aloud?

Her friend led her to a quiet-ish corner where the army kept the dried commissariat. No unpleasant smell. Byleth stuck her head between her legs as soon as Leonie plonked her down on a crate. She was relieved to be off her feet and, with the fish smell now gone, her tummy immediately started to settle.

Leonie pressed a hand to Byleth’s forehead. “Hm, you’re a little flushed, but it’s not a fever. Stay here. I’ll grab you some water.”

The Huntress retreated with the crunching of the earth.

Alone, Byleth breathed in the chilly air. It grounded her, but she still worried about these bouts of sickness that kept ensnaring her.

Does it have something to do with your power, Sothis?

Like before Remire Village, Byleth had experienced that odd vertigo. Sothis debated extensively over what caused it, but Byleth recalled her saying that her ability to control the flow of time gave her a ‘sense’ of things to come. Bad omens. Byleth shuddered at the thought. It would not bode well if she was sensing an impending disaster.

You’re tired, just tired.

Still, each time she told herself that it became harder to believe.

I’d give anything to ask you, Sothis…

Leonie returned with the water, which Byleth gladly drank, washing away the sickly taste and leaving only the soft flavour of pennies in her mouth. As annoying as that was, she’d rather have the metal than the bile.

“Still feeling sick?” the huntress asked after a while.

“It’s passing.”

Leonie bit her lip, then suddenly came out with: “Hey, remember our voyage to Almyra?”

Byleth blinked, blindsided.

“And how sick I was on that stupid boat?”

The Archbishop-Queen nodded. “I’d never seen you so sick.”

“Right?” Leonie chuckled. “Worse still, by the time I got used to sailing, it was time to get off!”

It had been the first for many things: a diplomatic trip to Almyra, an archbishop making a foreign visit, and everyone’s first time on a ship.

Fódlan was not a land of seafarers. The few ships Faerghus had were worse-for-wear hand-me-downs from Adrestia’s war with Dagda and Brigid. For the best quality – and most seaworthy – vessels, one had to look to the private trading companies of Leicester. In short, nothing Fódlan had compared to the Almyran navy, so Byleth and her entourage had travelled to Rohham, a port city in northern Almyra.

Though the return journey was by land through Fódlan’s Throat, outbound they sailed through the Whitehorn and onto the Verdant Ocean – and while Byleth thought the journey pleasant, Leonie discovered she did not travel well by sea.

Byleth smiled bemusedly. “Why are you bringing this up now?”

“I dunno. Guess I’m trying to get your mind off your nausea. Though bringing up seasickness probably isn’t the best way to do that, huh?”

“I don’t know,” Byleth shrugged, honestly feeling herself again. “I think it’s working.”

“Have you eaten much today?” Her lack of an answer told Leonie all she needed to know. “No wonder you’re feeling faint! You should have something to eat.”

“You sound like Pansy.”

And Claude.

“Professor, come on!”

Byleth’s appetite was so poor at the moment she couldn’t remember the last time she ate a full meal.

“Not fish.”

“Ha! Okay, not fish. Something plain and inoffensive, like bread.”

Finding a shady part of the camp downwind of the kitchen, the two women partook in the blandest foods they could find: light cheese, lean meats, toasted bread, and beans.

Byleth nibbled at it, piece by piece. Despite her apprehension, her stomach seemed grateful to have something to fill it.

See, I just need to look after myself more.

She looked out across the camp, watching the groups huddled around fires as they slurped their soups and chowed their lunch. As she did, she realised how mixed the circles had become.

Three months ago, Seteth had been on tenterhooks about the constant squabbles between the Goddess-worshipping Fódlans and the Almyrans who followed the Wise One. He’d suggested the army perimeter be more obviously divided to avoid conflict.

Byleth refused, as did Claude.

“They have to fight together, so they’ll learn to live together.”

The Fódleans continued to speak devotedly of their Goddess, who lived on a star and created their tiny corner of the earth, while the Almyrans mocked them, declaring only the Wise One was Abestiha. ‘The original’. Without beginning or end. Uncreated. The God with a hundred names Whose unseen presence and everlasting existence went beyond the material world.

And the squabbles continued.

Then, the Scouring of Gwydion happened. Limbs were lost, wounds were wrought, and men died. In the days that followed, once the township was taken, their moods slowly shifted. Everyone huddled around campfires in remembrance of their fallen comrades, helping the Fódlean and Almyrean realise that grief and love were universal.

Now, they were laughing and joking, even some light play-fighting — they were coming together as a unit and that was such a relief. Months of fighting together helped them all forge bonds.

It was good to see.

That was when Byleth spied one such ‘mixed group’ — Cyril, Lysithea and Nader talking between themselves, while Ashe shared their fire as he wrote a letter.

Nader’s voice was discernible even among the hum of the crowd as he spoke animatedly.

Instinct took over. Fight or flight — Byleth chose the former. She put her nearly-empty plate aside and stumbled over, while Leonie followed on her trail.

Byleth listened, rather than announce her presence:

“Brr! Feel that chill? That’s Fódlan weather for you, eh?” Nader said, rubbing his hands together before picking up a cup of steaming coffee. He turned to Cyril. “How did you get used to this, Kurosh?”

The lad shrugged. “I dunno, y’all just kinda do. I spent time in Goneril territory before Lady Rhea took me in and it gets chilly there in autumn, seeing as it’s in the mountains, so that got me ready for life at the monastery pretty good.”

“Plus, you’re a smart lad and got yourself a pair of nice, long sleeves.”

Cyril cocked an eyebrow at him. “Compared to you, they sure are. You know, even back in Almyra, Ma-mi and Ta-mi used to say you could stand to getcha self a proper coat, Nader.”

The greying man threw his head back, laughing. Then, his eyes sparkled like a big child. “Ooh, hey, do you think we’ll see snow, kids? You don’t see snow in Almyra unless you’re halfway up a mountain or the deepest parts of Hushang.”

“Gloucester’s too far south for snow,” Lysithea explained, assuredly. “We might get some sleet come the Ethereal Moon, though it’s very unlikely.”

“You’ll only see real snow in Faerghus this time of year,” Ashe added with a smile, looking up from his writing.

“It always snows in Faerghus,” Cyril groaned, clearly recalling the war and their brief time there. The poor boy’s teeth were constantly chattering during the campaign for Fhirdiad. “Even in summer, it can snow!”

Nader put his clay mug down to stretch his arms. “Well, then I hope I don’t have to go anywhere near Faerghus, then. Else I’ll have to be getting myself a thicker coat, eh?”

Ashe chuckled, tapping his quill against the paper. “Actually, Lucy tells me they’ve mostly had thunderstorms; one even struck and destroyed the royal chapel last month.”

“Winter will be setting in across all of Fódlan soon, though, won’t it?” The Almyran general then pointed upwards at the cloud. “The warkastare is about to fall below the horizon until the next cycle begins.”

The young lord tilted his head, curious. “Oh, ‘walker’s tear?’ What’s that?”

“He’s talkin’ about the Blue Sea Star,” Cyril told him, before glowering at Nader. “You should be a little more respectful, y’know. People here in Fódlan believe that’s where the Goddess lives.”

“It’s still the same star, Kurosh,” Nader shrugged, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “You must’ve thought it funny, though. Of all the stars the Fódlan Goddess could’ve come from, it’s the same one Eshtar went to converse with the Yazatanre.”

“Eesh-tar-ee?” Lysithea pipped up again, scowl getting deep. “Yaz-what?”

Cyril loured at the Almyran general. “Stop throwin’ so many odd terms around. You’re confusin’ them!”

“I’ll tell you about Eshtar, the Yazatanre, and warkastare. See, ten thousand years ago, following a great war, there were hardly any fertile plains. Born at that time was Eshtar, a descendant of Mashyana. Possessing the Wise Lord’s fire in her heart and unfathomable beauty, all respected and looked up to her, and so she sought a means to make the land and sea fruitful again.”

“Praying to the Wise One for guidance, a great wyvern named Vanant flew down from the stars and offered to be her mount. They flew to Warkastare, the Wolf’s Eye, the brightest star in the sky, where the first forged souls in creation were made.”

“When Eshtar arrived, the Wise One burning in her soul, guided her to the heavenly water jars that could bring dead soil to life. She brought them to the people, turning their fields green again. With her work done, she decided it was her duty to always watch over the Earth on Vanant. So, they flew to the Moon and made their home there. Thus Eshtar became a Yazatanre herself, ever flying across the skies — the Yazatanre of the Earth, Moon and Stars.”

Nader refilled his coffee cup triumphantly. “Interesting, isn’t it? I haven’t offended your delicate Fódlean souls, have I?”

Ashe shook his head, smiling. “Not at all. I think it’s fascinating to hear what other cultures believe and the stories they tell.”

“Indeed, as if a fairy story for ‘upset’ us, anyway!” Lyisthea added with a pout.

“Either way,” Ashe said. “The fact that particular star is important to both our people… well, I think that’s wonderful.”

“Isn’t it just?” Nader nodded. “Y’know, I’ve always wondered if there’s a connection between Sothis and the other Yazatanre. If all ‘divine beings’ come from that star, they’d have at least known each other, right?”

“Hmmm,” Lysithea hummed, thinking. “The concept that all living beings derive from a single origin is a statistical certainty, as sure as a ripple. So that the gods of the world might be the same? An interesting hypothesis.”

“Yeah, though I doubt many monks here in Fódlan would like the notion of the Goddess sharing a heritage with any Almyran yazatanre,” Cyril concluded with a sheepish look. “I wouldn’t wanna suggest it to Seteth at any rate.”

“Well, why don’t we do one better?” Nader proposed.

Swiftly, he spun around to face Byleth with a stare so intense she felt like he had shot her with an arrow.

“I sensed you lurking there, Lady Byleth.” There was a glint in his eyes that made Byleth feel naked. “And you, Miss Leonie. Care to join the debate?”

Leonie held her hands up, laughing nervously. “Nope, you can count me right outta this one. People can get pretty touchy when it comes to religion, so I don’t want anyone overhearing us and getting the wrong end of the stick.”

“Fair enough. What say you, Your Grace?” Nader asked, setting his sights on Byleth again. “Any chance Eshtar went to the Blue Sea Star and met the Goddess?”

A little taken aback, she tried to channel her best ‘Rhea.’

“Provided it is the same star, it’s very possible that wily Eshtar met Her. As the Goddess once lived on Earth, she would have been the first to greet her, being the most familiar with humans.”

I’ll bet you spoke down to her the same way you used to speak to me, too, Sothis.

Nader slapped his hands together. “There you go! If the Goddess’s voice on earth says it’s possible, I’d say our theory has legs, kids!”

Cyril rolled his eyes. “She’s probably just sayin’ all that to pacify you, Nader.”

“Ha! Milady Teach doesn’t care about pacifying me.” The warrior choked back an almighty scoff, twisting his body back towards Byleth. “Milady Teach says and does what she wants, right?”

Another jab.

“I always try to be diplomatic,” she replied, simply.

“Ah, yes!” Nader nodded, the corners of his lips curled, as though fighting back a sneer. “I’ve learned quite a lot about your flair for diplomacy in the last twenty-four hours, haven’t I, Lady Byleth?”

Byleth’s jaw tightened. It was clear he had no intention of hiding his frustration at her over the affair. Nader always seemed a light-hearted man, teasing Claude with harmless potshots. But if he was prodding and barbing his former charge like this, then she understood why Claude got surly at Nader last night; she felt her own temper snapping.

I must talk this out with him.

“Nader—” she began.

“Nader.”

Startled, Byleth turned to see an uncongenial Claude flanking Leonie. He was carrying his riding habit jacket over his shoulder, instead of wearing it. And his eyes scowled, even as his lips smiled.

The spahbad stood slowly, folding his arms. “Janob’e-ahli.”

“Make a spectacle of yourself, old man?”

“Ha, not at all.”

Nader gestured to the little gathering of Ashe, Cyril and Lysithea. “We were having a lovely discussion about Almyran-Fódlan cultural differences and similarities.” He jutted his chin towards Byleth. “I called upon Her Benevolent Grace for her opinion concerning Wiley Eshtar and the Fódlan Goddess’s star.”

Claude surveyed everyone’s expressions of everyone present. Cyril’s blankness, Ashe’s awkwardness, Lysithea’s puzzledness, and Leonie’s confoundment. “Uh-huh?”

“‘Uh-huh,’ indeed.” Nader then bobbed his head Byleth and Leonie. “I thought it was a productive discussion — but I apologise if I offended you, Lady Byleth, or you, Miss Leonie.”

Byleth shook her head stiffly. “No offence here.”

“None here either,” Leonie agreed, though she still looked bemused. “I think…? I mean, I’m not sensitive about whether the Goddess shares her star with other gods or anything. Makes sense. I just get the feeling that—” She scratched her neck awkwardly. “Agh, never mind. It’s nothing.”

Ashe jumped to his feet, tucking his writing tools under his arm. “We’d better start packing, hadn’t we, Leonie?”

“Um, yeah. Good call, Ashe.”

The Lord of Gaspard gave Cyril and Lysithea a friendly goodbye. “I’ll see you in our quarters, later.” But his voice wavered when it came to Nader and Claude. “Good afternoon, Nader,” he said stiffly. “Claude.”

As the pair left, Leonie stopped and turned back to stroke Byleth’s forearm. “You okay now, though?”

“Yes!” Byleth quickly waved her off, not wanting Claude to get suspicious. She forced a smile. “Go ahead, I’ll be fine.”

Despite her hopes that Claude wouldn’t have heard or noticed Leonie’s question, he, of course, did. “Okay now?’”

Her companion nodded, “Yeah, the Professor was feeling a little—”

“Hungry,” Byleth finished, desperate not to worry Claude with her ongoing nausea. She waved Leonie and Ashe off, whom both left with quiet goodbyes before she properly replied to her love’s query. “I’m also a little sick of fish. It’s all we’ve been eating for weeks. So, we had to scrounge around for something else. Then we lost track of time here—”

“Another thing to blame me for, I suppose,” Nader snorted. “Not only did I distract you, but I also helped catch the fish this morning! Ha, seems I just keep hindering your goals, eh, Queen Bee?”

Claude clenched jaw. “Nader, will you shut—!”

“It was nobody’s fault.” Byleth cut in, stepping between the pair. Then, to Claude, she tried to explain. “If anything, Nader’s little thought experiment was a welcome distraction.”

“I see,” Claude replied, unconvinced.

Byleth changed the topic. “You were looking for me?”

“Yeah, we’d better head out soon, else Jamilah will be angsty.”

“Is it that time already?! Sorry to make you wait.”

His face relaxed, allowing him to smile more genuinely. “Ah, no worries. Though, we’d best get you Jamilah-ready.”

Without warning, he threw his jacket over Byleth’s head, playfully rubbing her down like a wet dog. Though Byleth couldn’t see their reactions, she could hear Cyril and Lysithea’s gasps.

“Claude!” the mage whined. “What are you doing?!”

“Yeah, what the hey, Claude! You’re gonna muss up her hair — Pansy won’t like that!”

“I can’t imagine Malva and Fern will be best pleased, either,” Lysithea added.

“Teach and I have to ride on the same wyvern to avoid being spotted,” Claude explained with a chortle. “But you know how Jamilah is, so we’ve gotta make her smell as much like me as possible.” He nudged Byleth along, away from the group. “Anyway, we best get going. We won’t be long.”

A crunch of grass followed after them. “Perhaps someone else should keep watch on you, too, Khal? Since what you’re about to do is…” Nader paused. “Pretty dangerous.”

“I’ll be fine, Nader,” Claude replied with forced zeal. Still, there was a tinge of relief there, too. As though he had genuinely feared Nader might’ve stopped caring for him altogether. “I’m pretty well-practised, and Teach’ll have my back.”

She heard a worried exhale, and then Claude led them away.

---

They walked quietly, side-by-side for what felt like a while. Claude kept ludicrously running his jacket over Byleth’s head and she grumbled in protest. She could hear a few people laughing, praising ‘Lady Byleth’ and ‘Ashibanu’ahlia’ for being such a good sport.

The sound of the crowds dying down, and then they finally stopped.

Claude whistled.

“Alright, Teach. That should be good enough.” He tapped her on the head with something lightweight. A map, from the feel of it. “Let’s pop in here for a second to double-check the flight path before we saddle up Jami.”

Byleth pulled the coat off her head, seeing that he had guided them to the war tent. Rolling her eyes, she threw the jacket at Claude. He caught it with a chuckle and held the tent flap open for her as she strode inside with her head held high.

Once they were inside, though, the pretence ended.

“You’re becoming quite the actress, By.”

A frisson of excitement overtook Byleth in the seconds it took for Claude to close the entrance and approach her from behind. His arms wrapped around her body, cooing wantonly. Sighing, she leaned back against him as he kissed and nipped the skin upwards towards her ear.

“I like it.”

Then he buried his face into the crook of her neck, every part of her body felt aglow. She couldn’t suppress a quiet moan, a hand snaking up to grip his hair as he continued to rub against her. He smelled so good to her. Chamomile, lavender and spices she still couldn’t name. And Claude. Just him and his natural musk. It soothed her, roused her. Made her whine with want. Made her wish they were already on the other side of this war.

Claude snickered again. “Shh. Remember, this is supposed to be practical.”

“Feels more like you’re—oh!”

His hands cupped her breasts, squeezing them lightly. They still felt sore beneath his touch, but she didn’t care. Even at his roughest, he was always tender. Her back curled against him.

“How is squeezing my tits making me ‘Jamilah-ready’?”

“Hey, there’re lots of oils on our palms, you know!”

“Sounds like you’re exploiting a flaw in our agreement.”

“And you’re not?” He curled his tongue around her lobe, before pulling away to switch sides. “Besides, we’re not breaking the agreement.” His facial hair prickled her sensitive skin as he rubbed again her. “I’m just doing what wyverns do, mates or not — passing on my scent.”

A tiny smile crossed Byleth’s lips. “Hmm, and you do smell good.”

Claude bleated a single laugh, rubbing himself against her a little harder. “So do you. Like mint.”

Byleth’s arms gripped Claude’s firmly. Goddess, she loved how he felt! If she could wrap herself inside his scent – around his body – for eternity, it would be bliss. She would never emerge from that cocoon.
“I’d drink you as a tea if I could,” Byleth muttered, distracted as she leaned into the fantasy, and him.

“Oh, but you do.”

His voice was so gruff when he answered like his throat was filled with want.

“And you drink and taste me… oh, so well!”

He nibbled the shell of her ear, hand stroking gently down towards her stomach. Panting, she felt a jolt as his index finger circled her naval before softly rubbing the inside. It made Byleth buck—a quirk of her body he’d discovered long ago, a nerve that jolt through her like a shock. Her loins pooled. She shook her head, starting to feel too stimulated. Too thirsty.

“Claude, stop.”

He backed away. “Other side?”

She nodded.

“Turn around, then.”

When she did, he cupped her face and pressed a long, indulgent kiss upon her lips. He tasted like their from earlier. Ginger tea, earthy pine and butter from the bread.

Breaking the kiss, Claude cupped her cheeks. “You okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

Claude smirked. “Good. Let’s finish you off.”

Byleth’s cheeks reddened as he backed her against the tent beam.

Slowly, gently, Claude rutted his chest and hips against her. He muttered something, a mindless confession, seeping through. She realised, after a few moments, that the words were not on her tongue but his. Lovely whispers, eshtahre’uyla-mi, and words she knew were pleas and prayers.

Byleth’s eyes fluttered closed.

It brought back those memories again, of being pressed against that tree in Miach Forest—how thick the smoke had been—how rough the bark felt against her skin—how it crumbled and tangled into her hair as he pressed her against the tree—how he gripped her, took her, made her whole—how fulfilled she felt, filled her with his cum—

She grasped him at his nape, whining as he kissed and teased her. Her fingers found the scar at the base.

Claude’s body bore countless marks. Byleth had mapped him out, familiar with every detail; scars from countless run-ins and battles, from fine, barely visible white lines from childhood scrapes to jagged valleys that cut deep into his sinew. An injury he got from the Battle at Gronder Field was one such mark, a deep cut just underneath his right shoulder, obtained from a certain crest-imbued lance.

Not Dimitri. No, it was Ingrid.

Still, a powerful fighter with a strong stab, the Crest of Daphnel did not lend its strength to the wary wielder of Luin. 

Byleth wanted to avoid a needless onslaught, but there was no stopping Dimitri at that time. He rambled forward like an out-of-control convoy, overrunning everything in his path. Nonetheless, Claude approached Dimitri, attempting to reason with him all while keeping out of the deranged prince’s range. The Duke Riegan shouted down to the half-mad man, imploring him they stood a better chance against Edelgard if they joined forces—

Dimitri silenced him with a spear throw, which Claude easily dodged. But it sent the point. 

“Edelgard is mine. Her head is mine. Stay out of my way, Claude, or next time I won’t miss.”

He charged off towards the central hill, the very place Byleth had told her students not to approach. 

Claude tried to follow—that was when Ingrid jumped him on her pegasus, jabbing him back with Luin.

Stabbing an archer’s right shoulder was daring, stealthy, and just as Byleth taught her all those years ago for the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion, and they fought only with dummy weapons. Had it been under different circumstances, she would’ve been proud of her student.

“Stay away from him!” Ingrid had yelled. 

Her face had been twisted with guilt. She knew this was wrong, unknightly, uncourtly. There was nothing to be gained from attacking a ‘foe’ with no interest in fighting. Yet her duty was to protect Dimitri, even if cost her life when Claude inevitably shot straight out of the sky with a single shot from Failnaught.

Claude wailed out in pain, causing Jamilah to swoon and recoil. Yet, he yanked on her saddle to stop her as she reared up to unleash the fire brimming in her throat. All these years later, that mark remained along with the few others his crest couldn’t fully heal.

If Luin could do that, what would Areadbhar do?

Byleth dreaded to think. The Crest of Riegan would’ve spared Claude from death, but the strength in Dimitri’s arm meant even the lightest thrust might’ve disabled Claude for good. He was fully ambidextrous, so he could’ve continued to swing a sword… but wield a bow? Never again.

Byleth’s eyes snapped open.

“She’s mine. Stay away — oR i WoN’t MiSs.”

Gripping Claude’s face between her hands, she pulled him back. He looked as dazed as she felt.

“That’s—I think that’s enough. Don’t you?”
Nodding, he pulled away leaving her feeling cold.

“Sorry,” he said, trying to chuckle. “I kinda forgot myself there.”

“Don’t worry. I did, too.”

“Heh,” Claude shook his head. “Good job I’m leaving tomorrow. It’ll remove temptation for us.”

Byleth’s body lurched forward. One more time, she thought. What could it hurt? From tomorrow, they wouldn’t see each other again until after the battle.

Just once more.

But she stayed quiet.

As they straightened their clothes and righted their hair, Byleth grappled for as unsexy a topic as she could to get her mind off her want.

“Nader blames me, isn’t he?”

That did it. Passion dead and replaced with dread. It was like cold water on a fire, complete with an awkward hiss emulating from Claude’s lips.

“Has he been bothering you?”

“Not really. I just… feel guilty seeing him so upset. And how upset you seem about his mood right now.”

“By…”

“I don’t like seeing you upset.”

Claude smiled. He took her elbows, putting on a look that she imagined was to dispel her concerns; it did not. “Don’t worry about me. Just ignore him for now. He’s angry at me, but I can take it.”

“Is that why you fought yesterday? Because he’s angry?”

He froze. “Who told you about that?”

“So, it’s true?”

“Ahem. We were just training—”

“Claude, please don’t hide things from me.”

He huffed. “I’m not. It was nothing. You know what he’s like with his wordplay. I couldn’t even tell you what he said now—I’d just had enough, after yesterday.”

Byleth winced. “It’s my fault.”

“Hey, hey!” Claude stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. “Don’t you go taking all the blame, By! We’re in this together, remember?”

He kissed her forehead, continuing.

“Nader and I are always rough with each other during training, it’s normal.”

“Sahm noticed the difference,” Byleth said pointedly. “So much so he told Leonie.”

Claude let out a ‘Ha!’ and rubbed his temple, as though easing a headache away. “Well, it could be worse. Leonie and Sahm — they’re not exactly great at recognising undertones.”

“It’s not just them, Claude. At the meeting… everyone felt the tension between you. It was palpable.”

He sighed. “You’re right. I’ll talk to him. Tell him to pipe down — he’ll be leaving in three days to meet me at the top of the Ravine, so I guess we’ll have plenty of time to chat.”

Byleth watched as he finished tidying his appearance and pulled his jacket back on. “Maybe I should speak to him.”

“Pah! Why’d you wanna do that?” Claude asked, shaking his head.

“I want to understand his feelings. For both your sakes.”

“I know what he’s thinking.” He cupped her chin with his thumb. “Trust me, there’s no reason for you to come riding in with a tea party invitation to put the world to rights with him.”

Byleth pouted, but when Claude kissed it away she decided to drop it for now. If he didn’t want her to make nice with Nader, she wouldn’t push it.

“He might get pissy,” he told her. “But he’d never do anything to hurt me – or you for that matter.”

Claude pulled her towards the exit, back to the outside world. He grabbed the unrolled map from the nearby take, their ‘flight plan’ having already been decided the day before.

“Come on! We’d better dash. Jamilah will be doing somersaults if I don’t take her out soon.”

There was a tiny glint in his eyes as he looked Byleth up and down.

“Let’s hope you smell Khalidekan enough for my spoiled daughter.”

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