Chapter 4: Mashyana’s Gambit

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Byleth knew watching Claude fly off with his marzpahnran would bring back memories of all the other times they had parted ways.

There was that curious day when he first reappeared following the end of the war, swooping back into their lives at the Faerghus Foundation Day celebrations. He had stayed only a week, and mostly only spoke with her when she was with others – Dimitri, the other members of the council, and so on. She recalled the uneasiness she felt as he walked towards his wyvern, then the shot that ran through her blood when he cast her a playful wink-and-smile before soaring into the winter sun.

Then there was the day he left Garreg Mach. Both times. First, following the signing of the treaty between Fódlan and Almyra. She recalled how on edge she had felt, knowing she would see Dimitri for the first time in over a month and fearing that he would see right through them, and then, Byleth wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or guilty when she realised he didn’t realise and wouldn’t either. That mix of emotions made every step towards that final ‘farewell’ a struggle. 

Truth be told, she and Claude had said their true goodbyes before returning to Fódlan. First, with their bodies the night before they crossed the border, and then with a parting kiss the morning of. 

Claude had slipped a letter into her hand as he pulled away slowly, reluctantly.

“For you,” he whispered. When Byleth moved to open it, he stopped her. “Not yet. Open it tomorrow. After I leave. Promise?”

Byleth didn’t know what a pounding heart felt like, but her body quaked. She knew she would see him again in a few hours when they would go to see Dimitri, but it felt like a rehearsal for him leaving for good. And it stung. As much as she wished to tear the letter open immediately, she obeyed her lover’s request. 

“Mehrbahn’i,” she swore.

Tucking it into her dress, between her breasts and against her heart, she vowed to wait until that moment came — the one where Claude left Fódlan, leaving Byleth behind. 

Then it came, that final moment. Byleth thought she might suffocate when it arrived. It was dizzying, to the point of nausea. She felt utterly sick to her stomach. Worse still, she had to hide it. Beneath a straight face, she watched quietly as Dimitri was the one to send Claude off.

Two kings, walking side by side towards where Claude’s—no, Shahsharan Khalid’s Immortals waited. Byleth mimicked the hazahran-pasbanan’s steely expressions, faces that once came naturally to the ‘Ashen Demon’, but felt exhausting to the Ashibanu-ahliah. Her hand instinctively rested on her chest, to pat the letter that she would soon be at liberty to read. Thoughts of the words it contained terrified her almost as much as the scene before her. 

When Dimitri and Claude embraced each other in friendship – a ‘hug’ that was half-friendly, half-staged for the onlookers who doubted the alliance between Faerghus and Almyra – Byleth’s other hand gripped for the nearest thing it could… 

Seteth’s sleeve.

His brow furrowed in concern. “Are you well, Your Grace?”

Byleth snapped to her senses, releasing her right-hand man immediately. “Forgive me, Seteth. I’m… feeling a little unwell.”

By the time she looked back, Claude had mounted Jamilah. Then, as the great white wyvern turned and readied to take off, her master looked over his shoulder towards Byleth. She spied a flash of concern in her beloved’s eyes, which immediately prompted her to straighten up. Then, with a neutral expression, he laid his hand on his chest – over his heart – and nodded his head respectfully. To an onlooker’s eyes, it presumably looked like a show of respect, a courtesy to the Archbishop-Queen. Byleth, however, knew better. Placing her own hand over her own heart, she tapped the place where the letter remained sealed and secured. Slowly, she nodded once. To that, Claude winked, and with one last flashing beam, Jamilah’s powerful pearly wings took to the sky… and he was gone. 

Seteth gave her a pat on the shoulder, as though to praise her for sticking out the farewell despite feeling sick, blissfully unaware that Claude’s departure was the source of her ailment. And now that he was gone, she desired nothing more than to lock herself away somewhere, rip open his letter and wallow in his words.

Byleth sealed herself away in her room, still feigning illness. However, it took some time to gather enough courage to unfold the note. Claude had sealed the note with his toghra, an enchanted stamp similar to her rota, so that only the person the words were intended for could break it. Each time she brushed the wax, it shimmered with a recognition that only snapped away when she finally broke that lock. Then, as she unfurled the letter, an item slipped out, a token he had secreted inside — an opal-coloured wyvern scale. Byleth recognised it as one of Jamilah’s.

Wyvern scales… They are tough despite how small they are. Lovers would wear one gifted to them over their hearts to protect them in battle. No fire can singe them nor frost can crack them….

Byleth held it against her chest, imagining Claude gently placing it in between the pages of this letter, before remembering how his calloused fingers felt tracing the scar over her heart. Then, how his lips felt pressed against her breasts, too.

I understand if this letter meets with a fiery fate. Even as I write, I know there’s a chance you’ve burned this without reading it… and if not, you should, once you’re done reading. After all, despite all that’s happened between us, these are words I should keep to myself.

He was right. She knew she ought to destroy the letter, but she also knew, even in that moment, she wouldn’t. Not ever.

…I don’t know when next we’ll see each other, nevermind touch, kiss, or be together again. Perhaps never. 

She didn’t cry, but her eyes felt open and wide. That realisation that he was right, that ‘never’ was a likely possibility.

Never kiss you, touch you or have you in my bed, never feel your breasts against me, or take your nipples in my mouth. I can still taste you on my tongue, By, and the ecstasy of your lips wrapped around me. 

Burying her face in her pillows, she allowed it all to wash over her. His words, her memories.

I want nothing more than to rush back and take you again. One more kiss, one more taste—one last chance to release this knot in the pit of my stomach into you, and fill you with every ounce of my love.

Once the worst of her grief had passed, Byleth knew she ought to burn this letter. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Never. Not ever, ever. Instead, she would lock it away somewhere safe, in a place none other that Rhea knew about; the secret alcove beneath the Archbishop’s bed. It was a feature that Rhea showed her when she took up residence in that room, and was adamant that her successor keep its whereabouts clandestine. “Tell no one of it. Not your husband, not even Seteth should know.”

Byleth never thought she would have much use for it. Until Claude, the only object she kept hidden in there was her father’s diary. Wrapped in a thin, well-worn sheepskin pouch, her father’s words were the only treasure worth protecting for Byleth. Not because she feared anyone reading it—even in his diary, in his most private thoughts, Jeralt remained reserved—but simply because she believed it was the safest place to keep this last remaining piece of her father’s mind.

Now, it had a purpose in her life. The small cabinet in the bed became a safe place for her paramour’s tokens of love. His very first love letter to her, and Jamilah’s scale. Neither would be the last of their kind: there was eventually another love note, left for her after Claude’s impromptu return a few days later on the eve of Saint Cethleann’s Day, and a second scale.

Byleth thought she must have been dreaming when Claude showed up on the Starry Terrace. Her mind had entertained the fantasy of him being in her bed ever since she read his letter. It carried her through those days after he left, and she thought it would be all she would have for a long time – perhaps the rest of her life.

“I had a hunch. A hope. That you might want a proper goodbye.”

In that moment, when she touched him, felt his warmth, and tasted his tongue, she knew it was real.

She had him back, if only for a single night. It was the first time she whispered those dangerous words, too. That phrase transformed their mindless, senseless affair into something dangerous, hopeless, and devastating.

“I love you.”

Love. She loved him. She wanted to be his and for him to be hers. Though another man’s wife and queen, it was only in Claude’s arms she felt whole. Complete. Heard. Happy.

It was hard for Byleth to put words to her feelings when Claude left her that morning. Recognizing emotions was never her strong suit, much less knowing how to label them. After all, she had once mistaken the pain Claude sparked in her for danger, but she now recognised it as desire. Now, the pain of losing him felt like bereavement. Loss. Emptiness. Helplessness.

“I feel like you’re taking a piece of my soul away.”

Just before sunrise, as Claude kissed her goodbye, he discreetly placed another note in her robe pocket. 

“For later,” he told her. “For when this goodbye becomes too much to bear.”

A second scale, and a more passionate letter, one that kept her warm whenever she felt lonely during that unbearably cold summer. When she could escape to Garreg Mach, away from the chills of Fhirdiad’s court or instability of Dimitri’s moods, she would return to it as though it contained Claude’s very embrace:

You make me feel like I could scale any wall, run across oceans, and tear down the sky itself. You are above the clouds in the daylight and above the stars in the night. I would give anything to never be parted from you. The world feels quieter without the sound of your voice and colder without your touch.

I hunger for you — I’m starved without you. There are no words I could say or write that capture the tip of what you mean to me. The only way I know how to show you is through my actions, with my body… I long for us to dance again. My body aches for its mate. My soul yearns for that which fires it… I recall how your sweet nectar tastes on my tongue as your thighs quiver at my touch. Lying in my empty bed, I think about how perfect it felt to be inside you, to make love to you all night long. If we were together right this moment, I’d take you, please you and show you how much you mean to me with every inch of myself. I’d make you come and come and come until you felt nothing else, until you know no other word than my name, until we’d be unable to tell where you end and I begin. Nothing, nowhere, no being on this earth could compare to you.

Burn this letter, I know you must. But don’t forget these words. Think of me from time to time. Knowing you do that will give me strength. I wish nothing but happiness for you. And keep this second scale close with the first—remember the promise they represent. I will see you again. I will be yours again. I am yours and only yours. Until we meet again, my stars above, my eternal embers, and my heart’s fuel—your Golden Hart is yours now and forever.

That one, too, she didn’t burn. Though it would have been wise, she chose to be smart. The letter, along with Jamilah’s scales and a few other mementos, joined its cousin in the hidden alcove. A bottle of Mashyana’s jewels, empty of its potion, but holding a label written in Claude’s hand, and several dried flowers from the roadsides of Almyra. When she needed them most, she would take them out and look at them. In Fhirdiad, she would think of them sitting safely in their nook and excitedly awaited the day she would return to indulge in their contents.

Byleth had left them there, in that secret spot, when she and Claude left for this battle. He had kept his promise to return to her, and now…

Now, they were saying ‘goodbye’ again. 

Though Byleth knew it would only be for a short time, fear gripped her heart. ‘What-ifs’ shot through her like invisible darts, cutting her to pieces from the inside out. No amount of faith that everything would be all right would settle every doubt in her mind. This was war, after all.

So, when she found another folded note, obviously slipped into her pocket by Claude when they last spoke, her blood flittered in her veins. Wary of her maids, she tucked it between her breasts, as she had done with the first one — and vowed to read it once Claude had left for the summit of the Gwalchmai Ravine.

---

✷

Twenty-fourth Day of the Red Wolf Moon, the Year 1188.

Byleth rose as the fifth hour approached, ready to see her lover off.

​​It was hard to tear herself away from her cosy bed. Autumn was turning into winter, making the days shorter. She put on her boots and went outside to watch for wyverns, as night torches still burned. Byleth felt a sharp chill biting, nipping at her exposed ankles and dimpling her arms even through her heavy ochre and silver dressing gown. Above her, Byleth glimpsed the sun breaking through clouds, revealing a dark blue sky behind the overcast.

She was warming herself by the campfire when she finally saw Claude as he and his retinue departed on their wyverns. Jamilah stood out among them all, being the only albino among the flock. As they took to the air, the dragons circled the camp a few times, completing one last fly over to say goodbye to those who would remain.

When Claude neared Byleth’s quarters, his eyes were locked onto her, too. With his ‘good’ arm, he gave her a platonic yet coded salute. Despite being far away, she could perceive the twinkle in his eyes and definitely spied the wink he directed at her. Despite the sadness in her heart, it brought a smile to her face. She almost blew him a kiss, but held back because of Malva and Fern standing nearby. So, she waved instead, and comforted herself in the knowledge she didn’t need words, gestures, or kisses. Claude already knew what was in her heart. “I love you,” it whispered, and when she saw that last look he gave her, she could almost hear his heart whisper the same back. 

“Stay safe,” she prayed. “Please, please stay safe.”

Next to Byleth, Fern averted her gaze from the men on their wyverns flying into the dawn, almost as though she was embarrassed to look at them. Then, as Heydar came into view, following his king as he led the remaining Immortals, she gave out a nervous squeak. “S-So, it’s really happening.”

“What’s that, Fern?” Byleth asked, her eyes not leaving Claude and Jamilah.

“The battle, I mean.” The young holy sister shuffled the half-dry dirt at her feet. “Soon it’ll be just us and a few others, right? I mean, Leonie’s going to that village on the other end of the ravine, and King Khalid is going above the ravine. It’s just a bit… I-I don’t know.”

“Scary?” Byleth offered.

“Y-Yes. That we’re all alone, I mean.”

“We’re not alone, Sister Fern,” Malva told her. “Catherine will accompany us into the next battle, remember?” 

“Then, there is Cyril, and the Duke of Gloucester will be right behind us, along with Lady Lysithea and Sir Nera,” Byleth added. “We’re far from being short of soldiers.”

Fern nodded. “Yeah. I guess that’s true…”

Once Claude disappeared into the budding morning, Byleth’s attention squared directly onto her youngest attendant. “How are you feeling, Fern?”

The buffy-haired woman’s head shot up and her eyes widened. “Me? Um, yes. I mean, sorry. I’m well. Why? Did someone tell you I wasn’t?”

Byleth tried to offer her a reassuring smile. “I’m concerned about you, as is Pansy.”

Fern sucked her lips in so far it made her look toothless. For a moment, Byleth thought she was about to cry.

“I—Lady Byleth, I—!”

That was when Malva stepped in. Taking Fern’s elbow and giving it a squeeze, she said, “Sister Fern has been under the weather, Your Grace. An upset tummy, wasn’t it?”

A prickle passed over Byleth’s skin. Something felt off.

The tallest, quietest and arguably prettiest of the Flower Sisters, Malva’s long dark hair and complexion combined with her sharp features granted her an innate sternness. Most people, especially men, thought twice about whether they wanted to ‘speak with Lady Byleth’ whenever it was Malva greeting them. If they were not unnerved by her distant demeanour, her attractiveness cowed them, as did her deep, piercing blue eyes.

Thankfully, Byleth knew what lay beneath was an unassuming maid.

She turned to Fern again. “A stomach bug?”

“Y-Yes. That’s what it is. Just something I ate, maybe.”

“Or anxiety,” Malva added, placing her arm around Fern’s shoulders. “She’s been worried about this upcoming battle. And you, too, Your Grace.”

“I see,” Byleth said, nodding slowly. 

They turned to walk back inside her tent. 

“Well, don’t worry about me. I’m happy to say I’m feeling a lot better.” 

On her small table lay an empty plate. Chicken. While not as delicious as the pheasant, the broiler’s flesh had hit the dead-space in her gut well enough, taking away the dull ache that made her want to vomit. All that remained was a wing bone and a bit of grease. 

“As you can see, my appetite has returned.”

Malva’s eyes lit up as she picked up the plate. “So it has, Your Grace. Pansy will be relieved, too.”

“Thank His Royal Highness’s wyvern,” Byleth replied. It had been a pleasant surprise to find something she actually wanted to eat, nevermind that it had come from her lover’s possessive and Tata-obsessed mount. “Somehow, of all living things, she knew exactly what I needed.”

That was when Byleth noticed Fern was still lingering outside. The evening chill drifted in and was clearly making her shiver. Still, she did not enter.

“Fern, what are you doing? Come in. You’ll catch your death.”

The young nun shook her head, swallowing hard. “Oh, um, no, my Lady Byleth. I-I’m quite enjoying the night air, actually.”

Byleth tilted her head. “Your chattering teeth say otherwise.”

Fern’s cheeks might’ve flushed red, were it not for the cold. 

Once again, Malva took charge. “Maybe you should get ready for bed, Fern. I have the night-watch after all. Yours won’t be until tomorrow night.”

The nun rubbed her hands together, again betraying her true feelings about standing outside. 

So, why won’t she just come into the tent, then?

“Only if Lady Byleth doesn’t mind,” Fern said at last.

Byleth shook her head. “Of course I don’t. I hope you feel better tomorrow.”

The girl gave a small bobbing curtsy. “Thank you, Your Grace. Have a good night.”

With that, she darted off so speedily that it took Byleth by surprise. One moment, she had seemed overcome with lethargy, the next she was full of energy. 

Malva focused on clearing the table. Byleth turned to help her, which the middle flower sister did not argue with. She knew better than to do so, lacking Pansy’s stubbornness or Fern’s overzealousness.

“Maybe what I have is catching?” the archbishop suggested, absent-mindedly. “What do you think?”

“I think I’ll wait until Fern feels better, gets worse or is ready to talk,” the nun replied curtly, more so than her usual tone. She realised her potential error straight away, looking a tad sheepish. “Apologies. I didn’t mean any disrespect.” 

Byleth shook her head. It surprised her a little, but it did not offend her. She could tell immediately that this was already a sore spot for Malva, one that Pansy had probably pressed a few too many times before Byleth got there. 

“So, Pansy’s been pressing you about Fern’s change in behaviour?” Byleth asked knowingly, hoping to loosen Malva up a little.

It worked as the middle sister sighed, relaxing her up-til-then tense shoulders. 

“Yes, Your Grace,” Malva groaned. “But Pansy has been quite adamant that something is wrong. Since Fern won’t tell her, she keeps asking me. I take it she spoke to you, too?”

Byleth nodded. “She did.”

“I suspect it’s because she wasn’t having much success with Fern or myself.”

“I see…”

Malva sighed. “I know it comes from a place of love. Pansy has always seen it as her duty to protect us, as any elder sister would. Unfortunately, she can also be quite persistent in getting to the truth of the matter, even if there’s nothing to say.”

Byleth knew Pansy could be a busybody. Fiercely protective, she hated to be out of the loop about anything, be it regarding her lady or her younger sisters. This had been especially true since the war had left only three of what had once been many floral-named sisters that once served Lady Rhea. As the eldest surviving of that unusual garden of nuns, Pansy probably felt she needed to know everything to better protect them.

So, Byleth could read between the lines. “I’m guessing Fern has spoken to you about what’s wrong?”

Malva baulked a little, “Your Grace, I—”

“I won’t ask you what she said,” Byleth assured her. “That’s for Fern to tell me and Fern alone. I would just feel better knowing that Fern has confided in someone, even if that isn’t Pansy or myself.”

Malva pursed her lips, her mind clearly weighing up all responses. In the end, she relented. “She has, Your Grace. I’m doing my best to guide her in the right direction, though, it’s a situation I’m personally unfamiliar with.”

Byleth lowered her eyes. “Is she in danger?”

“No, Your Grace.”

“Could she come to harm because of… whatever it is?” Malva hesitated again. “I won’t ask you what it is,” Byleth promised. “But I need to know that she’s safe for my peace of mind.”

“I…” The middle sister took a moment to find the right words, clearly cautious about giving too much away. “She’s safe, Your Grace. Should events take a dangerous turn, I’d make sure she received proper help, and encourage her to come to you and Pansy as well.”

“Then that’s all I need to hear,” Byleth said conclusively with a smile. “We all have secrets, after all.”

She thought of Claude. It was only a few hours, and she was already missing him. His smile, his lips, his voice, how every word sounded when he spoke… All she wanted was to be held by him and him alone, as he told her that everything would be all right. That they would face fate together.

It made her want to retreat to her bed as soon as possible, so she could read the letter, cling to thoughts of him and, hopefully, bring on dreams that would keep her cosy tonight.

She gave the rolled up note a gentle pat before continuing.

“Would you like me to speak to Pansy?” Byleth asked, trying to distract herself. “I can tell her the matter is in hand.”

Malva let out an uncertain chuckle. “Only if she raises the matter with you first. I fear she’ll only worry more if she senses there is something to be found out.” A brief pause. “Trust me.”

Byleth kept smiling. “Of course. I trust you. Fine, only if she asks, or if Fern is ready to tell us.”

The nun gave no reply other than the relieved look in her eyes. Instead, she finished clearing the table and promptly asked, “Will you be needing anything further for now, Lady Byleth?”

“No, I think I’ll try to catch a few more hours of sleep now…” came the instinctive response. Again, all Byleth wanted to do was rest and indulge in her thoughts about Claude, teetering on the edge of her mind. 

Then she remembered. 

Nader! 

“Oh, actually, Malva! Before I forget, the spahbad will join me for tea around lunchtime.”

Malva tilted her head, surprised. “Nader? The general?”

“Yes,” Byleth said, then added. “I’ll be speaking to him privately about certain matters. Could you, Pansy and Fern ensure no one interrupts us?”

“And make ourselves scarce?” Malva asked.

Byleth inclined her head to agree. She wanted—no, needed to be alone. Though Claude said that Nader would keep their secret, she also suspected being eye-to-eye with her would ignite a ‘passionate’ response from him. The last thing she wanted was for any third person to walk in on what was bound to be a frank (and sordid) conversation about her relationship with the Almyran king. Not least because she still wondered if Pansy suspected – or outright knew – something between her and Claude.

The other woman nodded. “Then, I’ll see to it, Lady Byleth.”

A wash of relief flowed through Byleth’s heart. One benefit of making these arrangements with Malva was how unquestioningly dutiful she was. She had always trusted Lady Rhea’s judgement and would only push back if she thought the archbishop was placing herself in harm’s way. What’s more, Pansy respected Malva’s judgement, which Byleth knew would also put her mind at ease.

Malva curtsied. “I’ll leave you to rest. I’ll be back with Fern to wake you in a few hours and prepare for Lord Nader’s arrival.”

She picked up her candle and left, swift as a wisp, leaving Byleth alone at last. Save the guards at her tent’s entrance, no one would walk in to bother her for now.

Crawling into bed, she slipped the note out and rubbed the protective, magical toghra. Adorned with an ornate symbol – Khalid’s name written in High Almyran – it seemed to acknowledge Byleth’s touch, knowing the words it guarded were for her.

With a snap, it broke.

Byleth unrolled the document. Sure enough, a scale fell out. This one looked a little larger than the previous two, though no less beautiful and welcome. Holding it up beside her candle, Byleth could see how the light danced across its pale surface. It truly was like a pearl or opal.

The letter itself was a little shorter, but Byleth relished in its words, nonetheless.

My stars-above, I’ll say this quick. Maybe I should’ve just given this to you outright, or spoken the words I’m about to write—but I think it’s more fun this way. Sorry to tease! I can’t help myself. Even though I’m hours away from flying into our next battle, I can’t remember ever feeling so hopeful despite leaving you. Usually, it’s filled with regret and unsaid words. 

Now, it’s like the jar is open and everything inside has been released. I love you, you love me, and this battle isn’t the last against our enemy, but the first in our fight for our future.

So, this time, I won’t remind you of everything that’s happened between us—instead, I’m looking to the future and promising a wealth of pleasures once we’ve won this battle. The second we have a moment alone, I’m going to kiss you, make love to you, and give you everything I can. All you could ever want. I’ll show you everything we have to gain by following this path. 

I know it will be hard—that we’re about to stare the lion down and beg for mercy, but gods, By! We’ll be free. We’ll be together—

Her breath quivered, thrilled by that word. Together. This was the beginning of something. No more hiding or lying. Even though they were about to emerge from the shadows of secrecy that had cloaked them for so long, Byleth felt there was a light leading them out into the open. To a place where they could just… be.

I don’t know for sure what the future holds or what will happen once we’ve opened this bottle for the entire world to see, but I don’t care anymore. I only want you.

“And I you,” Byleth sighed, as though he could’ve heard her.

She didn’t care either. Not anymore. Not even the flashes of Dimitri that passed through her mind in that moment, dark and filled with fury, frightened her now. Perhaps it ought to, but somehow, she found greater strength in her love for Claude, and the promise that they would no longer have to hide.

Even if the earth cracks and the sky comes crashing down around us, we’ll see this through. Though the stars themselves may fall, we’ll face this together. If we do that, there is nothing we can’t overcome.

Byleth fell back against her bed.

“Though the stars may fall,” she muttered to herself. She liked that phrase. It echoed through her with conviction. Her smile widened. If feeling this way was ‘wrong’, then the world—the universe itself—was also wrong. “Even if the stars fall.”

So, don’t focus on the fact we’re apart right now—think about winning this battle, and how it will feel when we’re next together. When I’m in your arms, it’ll be over, and you’ll know that I’m yours.

“Though stars may fall,” Byleth whispered again, releasing a wistful sigh.

Hiding the letter and scale beneath her pillow, she let her mind carry her away. For the first time in days, she felt no illness. So, she hoped for a pleasant dream filled with reunions, not a nightmare filled with doubt…

Memories of their last reunion at Garreg Mach resurfaced in her mind. Neither had dreamed they would see each other again so soon. When their eyes met again on that strangely warm Horsebow Moon day, Byleth felt a surge of anticipation. Not only for the battles to come, but whether an opportunity might arise where she could steal a moment with Claude. Anxiety had almost driven her mad during strategy meetings, wondering if such a time would ever occur.

She hummed happily into her pillow.

Claude wasted no time in making a moment happen. That evening, he had stealthily made his way to her chambers. Jamilah huffed and puffed irritably as Byleth practically threw herself into his arms, but she didn’t care. He kissed her with a fervent desire, as if he hadn’t drunk for days—and he consumed her, fully savouring her lips and body. He pulled on that knot inside her loins tighter and tighter until she thought she might unravel…

“I want you inside me,” she begs, arching her back, writhing at his touch. 

The groan Claude tries to swallow vibrates against her sensitive flesh, making her whine. 

“Oh, I think I could stay down here for the rest of the night,” he teases, pressing another kiss against her thighs.

Then, almost defiantly, he rolls his tongue against her clit. Byleth squirms. Claude hums, only adding to her delightful torment.

“Your jaw will fall off,” she warns.

“Sounds worth it, to feel you curl and come over and over.”

“Claude—!”

Her protest dies on her lips as he presses his calloused fingers inside her, teasing her walls while continuing to please her with his mouth. Byleth’s mind feels numbed again, if for a moment, content to be lost in the sensations. But, this isn’t nearly enough. She wants him fully. Longs for it, is desperate for him to take her and make them whole.

Byleth hooks her leg around his waist.

“Stop teasing me.”

He laughs, then comes up to meet her face to face at last. 

“Aww, but I love it.” He kisses her sloppily, tongue glazed in her arousal. “It helps me, y’know. Holding out for the main event. The anticipation is kinda fun. Getting you so ready that you get… well, a bit like this. When I wind that knot inside you tight enough…”

The wink he gives her pulls that knot even harder. 

Byleth huffs. Yes, oh yes, it feels so good — but right now? She needs more. Craves it from head to toe. So, her hands reach for his erection, making him jolt and her loins ache. “All it does is remind me how empty I am without you.” 

His eyes darken. She can see he desires it, too. To dive, take her immediately and get lost completely in the moment. But, true to himself, he holds back a little longer. 

“You make a strong case there.” Slowly resting between her legs, gently stroking along her slit with one hand, while carefully guiding hers along his manhood with a few comforting tugs. 

Byleth cups his cheek, nodding. “I missed you—”

She lets out a quiet, relieved moan as he smoothly sinks in, and tugs him down for a kiss. Wrapping her legs tightly around his torso, she pulls him in, as far as he’ll go. It’s so hot — boiling. Heels against the small of his back, they stay that way for a while. Linked together, halves finally restored to one. 

“Gods, stars-above me…” Claude’s voice is throttled by rapture. “How can you be so…” Gripping her thighs, his nails digging crescent moons into her flesh, desperate to ground himself. He lets out a helpless whine. “You terrify me. Nothing unravels me, flusters me, enthrals me the way you do—”

Byleth cries out helplessly. She wants to tell him the same — and more. But, somehow, words fail her. Her heart and body felt so full. She’s missed him so much, wants him so completely, and loves him so absolutely.

“Hey, hey,” Claude brushes her hair and tears from her eyes. Tears she didn’t realise had formed. “Am I hurting you? Do you need to stop?”

She shakes her head manically. “No! Don’t stop. I couldn’t bear it if you stop now.” 

She flexes her walls around him, half-intentionally, half-instinctively. 

“You know when you squeeze me like that?” Claude asks, voice quivering, breath tickling her ear. “You draw me in. It’s like your body is swallowing me. Like I’m chasing after you. You pull, and I have no choice but to follow. Ah, eshtâre’uyla-mi!”

He begins slowly with deep, gentle thrusts. Each one is glorious, with every roll hitting the right spot. Steadily, they come closer to climax, prompting them to go faster, and get sloppier in their moves and kisses. She cries his names. Both of them, as though those are the only words she knows. Claude. Khalid. Claude. Khal—!

Her release rolls over her in waves, loins leaping and fluttering around him. His release comes hot, filling her body with his essence. 

That’s when she thinks…

What will our child look like?

She gasps, surprised at such a dangerous, hopeless thought—

Byleth slowly opened her eyes, spying the daylight starting to creep in. Clutching her bed covers around herself, she sighed as memories of her sweet dream faded into the recesses of her mind. She stayed there for a while, dozing and thinking. She wasn’t sure how much time passed before she heard her morning guard, poor Gatward, ring out a greeting to Malva.

“Greetings, Sister. Nothing to report!”

A few seconds later, the nun came inside, looking wearier than when Byleth last saw her. Her warm-toned skin glistened from the sweat of a long night’s work, and strands of dark locks stuck to her temple, having come loose from beneath her wimple. She stopped at the foot of the Archbishop-Queen’s bed, laying out her clothes for the day. As she stood up straight again, their eyes locked.

“Oh, I didn’t realise you were already awake,” she said. 

Byleth nodded, stretching as she sat up. 

“How are you feeling? Are you hungry?” Malva continued, 

“Yes.” Hungry, not sick. It made her smile. “Perhaps I’m getting better at last.”

“Here’s hoping,” the nun agreed. “Are you still hankering for chicken?”

“Chicken, goose, pheasant, grouse, duck…” Byleth didn’t mind. “As long as it’s some sort of bird.”

The holy sister gave a pleased giggle. “I’ll see what I can rustle up, my lady.”

---

✷

Twenty-fourth Day of the Red Wolf Moon, the Year 1188.

Byleth rose as the fifth hour approached, ready to see her lover off.

​​It was hard to tear herself away from her cosy bed. Autumn was turning into winter, making the days shorter. She put on her boots and went outside to watch for wyverns, as night torches still burned. Byleth felt a sharp chill biting, nipping at her exposed ankles and dimpling her arms even through her heavy ochre and silver dressing gown. Above her, Byleth glimpsed the sun breaking through clouds, revealing a dark blue sky behind the overcast.

She was warming herself by the campfire when she finally saw Claude as he and his retinue departed on their wyverns. Jamilah stood out among them all, being the only albino among the flock. As they took to the air, the dragons circled the camp a few times, completing one last fly over to say goodbye to those who would remain.

When Claude neared Byleth’s quarters, his eyes were locked onto her, too. With his ‘good’ arm, he gave her a platonic yet coded salute. Despite being far away, she could perceive the twinkle in his eyes and definitely spied the wink he directed at her. Despite the sadness in her heart, it brought a smile to her face. She almost blew him a kiss, but held back because of Malva and Fern standing nearby. So, she waved instead, and comforted herself in the knowledge she didn’t need words, gestures, or kisses. Claude already knew what was in her heart. “I love you,” it whispered, and when she saw that last look he gave her, she could almost hear his heart whisper the same back. 

“Stay safe,” she prayed. “Please, please stay safe.”

Next to Byleth, Fern averted her gaze from the men on their wyverns flying into the dawn, almost as though she was embarrassed to look at them. Then, as Heydar came into view, following his king as he led the remaining Immortals, she gave out a nervous squeak. “S-So, it’s really happening.”

“What’s that, Fern?” Byleth asked, her eyes not leaving Claude and Jamilah.

“The battle, I mean.” The young holy sister shuffled the half-dry dirt at her feet. “Soon it’ll be just us and a few others, right? I mean, Leonie’s going to that village on the other end of the ravine, and King Khalid is going above the ravine. It’s just a bit… I-I don’t know.”

“Scary?” Byleth offered.

“Y-Yes. That we’re all alone, I mean.”

“We’re not alone, Sister Fern,” Malva told her. “Catherine will accompany us into the next battle, remember?” 

“Then, there is Cyril, and the Duke of Gloucester will be right behind us, along with Lady Lysithea and Sir Nera,” Byleth added. “We’re far from being short of soldiers.”

Fern nodded. “Yeah. I guess that’s true…”

Once Claude disappeared into the budding morning, Byleth’s attention squared directly onto her youngest attendant. “How are you feeling, Fern?”

The buffy-haired woman’s head shot up and her eyes widened. “Me? Um, yes. I mean, sorry. I’m well. Why? Did someone tell you I wasn’t?”

Byleth tried to offer her a reassuring smile. “I’m concerned about you, as is Pansy.”

Fern sucked her lips in so far it made her look toothless. For a moment, Byleth thought she was about to cry.

“I—Lady Byleth, I—!”

That was when Malva stepped in. Taking Fern’s elbow and giving it a squeeze, she said, “Sister Fern has been under the weather, Your Grace. An upset tummy, wasn’t it?”

A prickle passed over Byleth’s skin. Something felt off.

The tallest, quietest and arguably prettiest of the Flower Sisters, Malva’s long dark hair and complexion combined with her sharp features granted her an innate sternness. Most people, especially men, thought twice about whether they wanted to ‘speak with Lady Byleth’ whenever it was Malva greeting them. If they were not unnerved by her distant demeanour, her attractiveness cowed them, as did her deep, piercing blue eyes.

Thankfully, Byleth knew what lay beneath was an unassuming maid.

She turned to Fern again. “A stomach bug?”

“Y-Yes. That’s what it is. Just something I ate, maybe.”

“Or anxiety,” Malva added, placing her arm around Fern’s shoulders. “She’s been worried about this upcoming battle. And you, too, Your Grace.”

“I see,” Byleth said, nodding slowly. 

They turned to walk back inside her tent. 

“Well, don’t worry about me. I’m happy to say I’m feeling a lot better.” 

On her small table lay an empty plate. Chicken. While not as delicious as the pheasant, the broiler’s flesh had hit the dead-space in her gut well enough, taking away the dull ache that made her want to vomit. All that remained was a wing bone and a bit of grease. 

“As you can see, my appetite has returned.”

Malva’s eyes lit up as she picked up the plate. “So it has, Your Grace. Pansy will be relieved, too.”

“Thank His Royal Highness’s wyvern,” Byleth replied. It had been a pleasant surprise to find something she actually wanted to eat, nevermind that it had come from her lover’s possessive and Tata-obsessed mount. “Somehow, of all living things, she knew exactly what I needed.”

That was when Byleth noticed Fern was still lingering outside. The evening chill drifted in and was clearly making her shiver. Still, she did not enter.

“Fern, what are you doing? Come in. You’ll catch your death.”

The young nun shook her head, swallowing hard. “Oh, um, no, my Lady Byleth. I-I’m quite enjoying the night air, actually.”

Byleth tilted her head. “Your chattering teeth say otherwise.”

Fern’s cheeks might’ve flushed red, were it not for the cold. 

Once again, Malva took charge. “Maybe you should get ready for bed, Fern. I have the night-watch after all. Yours won’t be until tomorrow night.”

The nun rubbed her hands together, again betraying her true feelings about standing outside. 

So, why won’t she just come into the tent, then?

“Only if Lady Byleth doesn’t mind,” Fern said at last.

Byleth shook her head. “Of course I don’t. I hope you feel better tomorrow.”

The girl gave a small bobbing curtsy. “Thank you, Your Grace. Have a good night.”

With that, she darted off so speedily that it took Byleth by surprise. One moment, she had seemed overcome with lethargy, the next she was full of energy. 

Malva focused on clearing the table. Byleth turned to help her, which the middle flower sister did not argue with. She knew better than to do so, lacking Pansy’s stubbornness or Fern’s overzealousness.

“Maybe what I have is catching?” the archbishop suggested, absent-mindedly. “What do you think?”

“I think I’ll wait until Fern feels better, gets worse or is ready to talk,” the nun replied curtly, more so than her usual tone. She realised her potential error straight away, looking a tad sheepish. “Apologies. I didn’t mean any disrespect.” 

Byleth shook her head. It surprised her a little, but it did not offend her. She could tell immediately that this was already a sore spot for Malva, one that Pansy had probably pressed a few too many times before Byleth got there. 

“So, Pansy’s been pressing you about Fern’s change in behaviour?” Byleth asked knowingly, hoping to loosen Malva up a little.

It worked as the middle sister sighed, relaxing her up-til-then tense shoulders. 

“Yes, Your Grace,” Malva groaned. “But Pansy has been quite adamant that something is wrong. Since Fern won’t tell her, she keeps asking me. I take it she spoke to you, too?”

Byleth nodded. “She did.”

“I suspect it’s because she wasn’t having much success with Fern or myself.”

“I see…”

Malva sighed. “I know it comes from a place of love. Pansy has always seen it as her duty to protect us, as any elder sister would. Unfortunately, she can also be quite persistent in getting to the truth of the matter, even if there’s nothing to say.”

Byleth knew Pansy could be a busybody. Fiercely protective, she hated to be out of the loop about anything, be it regarding her lady or her younger sisters. This had been especially true since the war had left only three of what had once been many floral-named sisters that once served Lady Rhea. As the eldest surviving of that unusual garden of nuns, Pansy probably felt she needed to know everything to better protect them.

So, Byleth could read between the lines. “I’m guessing Fern has spoken to you about what’s wrong?”

Malva baulked a little, “Your Grace, I—”

“I won’t ask you what she said,” Byleth assured her. “That’s for Fern to tell me and Fern alone. I would just feel better knowing that Fern has confided in someone, even if that isn’t Pansy or myself.”

Malva pursed her lips, her mind clearly weighing up all responses. In the end, she relented. “She has, Your Grace. I’m doing my best to guide her in the right direction, though, it’s a situation I’m personally unfamiliar with.”

Byleth lowered her eyes. “Is she in danger?”

“No, Your Grace.”

“Could she come to harm because of… whatever it is?” Malva hesitated again. “I won’t ask you what it is,” Byleth promised. “But I need to know that she’s safe for my peace of mind.”

“I…” The middle sister took a moment to find the right words, clearly cautious about giving too much away. “She’s safe, Your Grace. Should events take a dangerous turn, I’d make sure she received proper help, and encourage her to come to you and Pansy as well.”

“Then that’s all I need to hear,” Byleth said conclusively with a smile. “We all have secrets, after all.”

She thought of Claude. It was only a few hours, and she was already missing him. His smile, his lips, his voice, how every word sounded when he spoke… All she wanted was to be held by him and him alone, as he told her that everything would be all right. That they would face fate together.

It made her want to retreat to her bed as soon as possible, so she could read the letter, cling to thoughts of him and, hopefully, bring on dreams that would keep her cosy tonight.

She gave the rolled up note a gentle pat before continuing.

“Would you like me to speak to Pansy?” Byleth asked, trying to distract herself. “I can tell her the matter is in hand.”

Malva let out an uncertain chuckle. “Only if she raises the matter with you first. I fear she’ll only worry more if she senses there is something to be found out.” A brief pause. “Trust me.”

Byleth kept smiling. “Of course. I trust you. Fine, only if she asks, or if Fern is ready to tell us.”

The nun gave no reply other than the relieved look in her eyes. Instead, she finished clearing the table and promptly asked, “Will you be needing anything further for now, Lady Byleth?”

“No, I think I’ll try to catch a few more hours of sleep now…” came the instinctive response. Again, all Byleth wanted to do was rest and indulge in her thoughts about Claude, teetering on the edge of her mind. 

Then she remembered. 

Nader! 

“Oh, actually, Malva! Before I forget, the spahbad will join me for tea around lunchtime.”

Malva tilted her head, surprised. “Nader? The general?”

“Yes,” Byleth said, then added. “I’ll be speaking to him privately about certain matters. Could you, Pansy and Fern ensure no one interrupts us?”

“And make ourselves scarce?” Malva asked.

Byleth inclined her head to agree. She wanted—no, needed to be alone. Though Claude said that Nader would keep their secret, she also suspected being eye-to-eye with her would ignite a ‘passionate’ response from him. The last thing she wanted was for any third person to walk in on what was bound to be a frank (and sordid) conversation about her relationship with the Almyran king. Not least because she still wondered if Pansy suspected – or outright knew – something between her and Claude.

The other woman nodded. “Then, I’ll see to it, Lady Byleth.”

A wash of relief flowed through Byleth’s heart. One benefit of making these arrangements with Malva was how unquestioningly dutiful she was. She has always trusted Lady Rhea’s judgement and would only push back if she thought the archbishop was placing herself in harm’s way. What’s more, Pansy respected Malva’s judgement, which Byleth knew would also put her mind at ease.

Malva curtsied. “I’ll leave you to rest. I’ll be back with Fern to wake you in a few hours and prepare for Lord Nader’s arrival.”

She picked up her candle and left, swift as a wisp, leaving Byleth alone at last. Save the guards at her tent’s entrance, no one would walk in to bother her for now.

Crawling into bed, she slipped the note out and rubbed the protective, magical toghra. Adorned with an ornate symbol – Khalid’s name written in High Almyran – it seemed to acknowledge Byleth’s touch, knowing the words it guarded were for her.

With a snap, it broke.

Byleth unrolled the document. Sure enough, a scale fell out. This one looked a little larger than the previous two, though no less beautiful and welcome. Holding it up beside her candle, Byleth could see how the light danced across its pale surface. It truly was like a pearl or opal.

The letter itself was a little shorter, but Byleth relished in its words, nonetheless.

My stars-above, I’ll say this quick. Maybe I should’ve just given this to you outright, or spoken the words I’m about to write—but I think it’s more fun this way. Sorry to tease! I can’t help myself. Even though I’m hours away from flying into our next battle, I can’t remember ever feeling so hopeful despite leaving you. Usually, it’s filled with regret and unsaid words. 

Now, it’s like the jar is open and everything inside has been released. I love you, you love me, and this battle isn’t the last against our enemy, but the first in our fight for our future.

So, this time, I won’t remind you of everything that’s happened between us—instead, I’m looking to the future and promising a wealth of pleasures once we’ve won this battle. The second we have a moment alone, I’m going to kiss you, make love to you, and give you everything I can. All you could ever want. I’ll show you everything we have to gain by following this path. 

I know it will be hard—that we’re about to stare the lion down and beg for mercy, but gods, By! We’ll be free. We’ll be together—

Her breath quivered, thrilled by that word. Together. This was the beginning of something. No more hiding or lying. Even though they were about to emerge from the shadows of secrecy that had cloaked them for so long, Byleth felt there was a light leading them out into the open. To a place where they could just… be.

I don’t know for sure what the future holds or what will happen once we’ve opened this bottle for the entire world to see, but I don’t care anymore. I only want you.

“And I you,” Byleth sighed, as though he could’ve heard her.

She didn’t care either. Not anymore. Not even the flashes of Dimitri that passed through her mind in that moment, dark and filled with fury, frightened her now. Perhaps it ought to, but somehow, she found greater strength in her love for Claude, and the promise that they would no longer have to hide.

Even if the earth cracks and the sky comes crashing down around us, we’ll see this through. Though the stars themselves may fall, we’ll face this together. If we do that, there is nothing we can’t overcome.

Byleth fell back against her bed.

“Though the stars may fall,” she muttered to herself. She liked that phrase. It echoed through her with conviction. Her smile widened. If feeling this way was ‘wrong’, then the world—the universe itself—was also wrong. “Even if the stars fall.”

So, don’t focus on the fact we’re apart right now—think about winning this battle, and how it will feel when we’re next together. When I’m in your arms, it’ll be over, and you’ll know that I’m yours.

“Though stars may fall,” Byleth whispered again, releasing a wistful sigh.

Hiding the letter and scale beneath her pillow, she let her mind carry her away. For the first time in days, she felt no illness. So, she hoped for a pleasant dream filled with reunions, not a nightmare filled with doubt…

Memories of their last reunion at Garreg Mach resurfaced in her mind. Neither had dreamed they would see each other again so soon. When their eyes met again on that strangely warm Horsebow Moon day, Byleth felt a surge of anticipation. Not only for the battles to come, but whether an opportunity might arise where she could steal a moment with Claude. Anxiety had almost driven her mad during strategy meetings, wondering if such a time would ever occur.

She hummed happily into her pillow.

Claude wasted no time in making a moment happen. That evening, he had stealthily made his way to her chambers. Jamilah huffed and puffed irritably as Byleth practically threw herself into his arms, but she didn’t care. He kissed her with a fervent desire, as if he hadn’t drunk for days—and he consumed her, fully savouring her lips and body. He pulled on that knot inside her loins tighter and tighter until she thought she might unravel…

“I want you inside me,” she begs, arching her back, writhing at his touch. 

The groan Claude tries to swallow vibrates against her sensitive flesh, making her whine. 

“Oh, I think I could stay down here for the rest of the night,” he teases, pressing another kiss against her thighs.

Then, almost defiantly, he rolls his tongue against her clit. Byleth squirms. Claude hums, only adding to her delightful torment.

“Your jaw will fall off,” she warns.

“Sounds worth it, to feel you curl and come over and over.”

“Claude—!”

Her protest dies on her lips as he presses his calloused fingers inside her, teasing her walls while continuing to please her with his mouth. Byleth’s mind feels numbed again, if for a moment, content to be lost in the sensations. But, this isn’t nearly enough. She wants him fully. Longs for it, is desperate for him to take her and make them whole.

Byleth hooks her leg around his waist.

“Stop teasing me.”

He laughs, then comes up to meet her face to face at last. 

“Aww, but I love it.” He kisses her sloppily, tongue glazed in her arousal. “It helps me, y’know. Holding out for the main event. The anticipation is kinda fun. Getting you so ready that you get… well, a bit like this. When I wind that knot inside you tight enough…”

The wink he gives her pulls that knot even harder. 

Byleth huffs. Yes, oh yes, it feels so good — but right now? She needs more. Craves it from head to toe. So, her hands reach for his erection, making him jolt and her loins ache. “All it does is remind me how empty I am without you.” 

His eyes darken. She can see he desires it, too. To dive, take her immediately and get lost completely in the moment. But, true to himself, he holds back a little longer. 

“You make a strong case there.” Slowly resting between her legs, gently stroking along her slit with one hand, while carefully guiding hers along his manhood with a few comforting tugs. 

Byleth cups his cheek, nodding. “I missed you—”

She lets out a quiet, relieved moan as he smoothly sinks in, and tugs him down for a kiss. Wrapping her legs tightly around his torso, she pulls him in, as far as he’ll go. It’s so hot — boiling. Heels against the small of his back, they stay that way for a while. Linked together, halves finally restored to one. 

“Gods, stars-above me…” Claude’s voice is throttled by rapture. “How can you be so…” Gripping her thighs, his nails digging crescent moons into her flesh, desperate to ground himself. He lets out a helpless whine. “You terrify me. Nothing unravels me, flusters me, enthrals me the way you do—”

Byleth cries out helplessly. She wants to tell him the same — and more. But, somehow, words fail her. Her heart and body felt so full. She’s missed him so much, wants him so completely, and loves him so absolutely.

“Hey, hey,” Claude brushes her hair and tears from her eyes. Tears she didn’t realise had formed. “Am I hurting you? Do you need to stop?”

She shakes her head manically. “No! Don’t stop. I couldn’t bear it if you stop now.” 

She flexes her walls around him, half-intentionally, half-instinctively. 

“You know when you squeeze me like that?” Claude asks, voice quivering, breath tickling her ear. “You draw me in. It’s like your body is swallowing me. Like I’m chasing after you. You pull, and I have no choice but to follow. Ah, eshtâre’uyla-mi!”

He begins slowly with deep, gentle thrusts. Each one is glorious, with every roll hitting the right spot. Steadily, they come closer to climax, prompting them to go faster, and get sloppier in their moves and kisses. She cries his names. Both of them, as though those are the only words she knows. Claude. Khalid. Claude. Khal—!

Her release rolls over her in waves, loins leaping and fluttering around him. His release comes hot, filling her body with his essence. 

That’s when she thinks…

What will our child look like?

She gasps, surprised at such a dangerous, hopeless thought—

Byleth slowly opened her eyes, spying the daylight starting to creep in. Clutching her bed covers around herself, she sighed as memories of her sweet dream faded into the recesses of her mind. She stayed there for a while, dozing and thinking. She wasn’t sure how much time passed before she heard her morning guard, poor Gatward, ring out a greeting to Malva.

“Greetings, Sister. Nothing to report!”

A few seconds later, the nun came inside, looking wearier than when Byleth last saw her. Her warm-toned skin glistened from the sweat of a long night’s work, and strands of dark locks stuck to her temple, having come loose from beneath her wimple. She stopped at the foot of the Archbishop-Queen’s bed, laying out her clothes for the day. As she stood up straight again, their eyes locked.

“Oh, I didn’t realise you were already awake,” she said. 

Byleth nodded, stretching as she sat up. 

“How are you feeling? Are you hungry?” Malva continued, 

“Yes.” Hungry, not sick. It made her smile. “Perhaps I’m getting better at last.”

“Here’s hoping,” the nun agreed. “Are you still hankering for chicken?”

“Chicken, goose, pheasant, grouse, duck…” Byleth didn’t mind. “As long as it’s some sort of bird.”

The holy sister gave a pleased giggle. “I’ll see what I can rustle up, my lady.”

---

✷

Byleth first learned of Nader when a plush toy of his likeness wound up in her possession. A wandering Almyran merchant had offered to do her a favour by trading any Fódlan goods she might part with. That was essentially any expensive Church treasures that weren’t nailed to the floor – whether Seteth liked it or not. Idols crafted by Zoltan and other collections from the stores – it was all to secure money to buy food for the army and materials for the blacksmiths. 

The merchant took it all glady, and he threw the toy in as a ‘thank you.’

It had sat on her windowsill for a month or so before Cyril happened to spot it during tea.

“What’s with the Nader plush?”

“Nah-dare?” 

“Yeah, he’s a big deal in Almyra,” the lad related. 

She looked at the toy as if seeing it for the first time. “This is supposed to be a person?”

“Sure is,” Cyril replied matter-of-factly. “Lots of kids have Naddies back there. The real deal’s not as cute as the toy, though. He’s a — huh, whatcha call it in Fódlan? I guess, commander? Word doesn’t really fit, seeing as folks here don’t really have lords of war, unless you count the nobles.” 

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I saw him once as a kid, though it was from a distance.”

There was the tiniest, teeniest tinge of nostalgia in his voice. Cyril made it clear that he wasn’t terribly fond of his birth land, so it was quite unusual to see him reminisce about it with any sentiment.

“I was pretty little at the time. My dad had me on his shoulders so I could see Nader and the King. I think the Queen was there, too. And some of the kids, but they were pretty far away, looked like specks.” 

In hindsight, it was strange to think those two people Cyril saw were Claude’s parents. Even weirder now that Byleth had met them both in person. Never mind that he might have seen ‘Khalid’, too.

“Yeah, Nader’s all right, I guess,” the young man concluded. “He’s just kinda old-fashioned, if you ask me. The type who’ll attack Fódlan’s Throat so his followers can show off how tough they are.”

Remembering the toy, Byleth had grabbed it from the shelf and held it pathetically by one arm. “What should I do with this, then?”

Cyril pulled a face. “I dunno… save it for your first kid? Or I’ll bet Lysithea would take it! She likes all kinds of stuffed toys—oh! But, uh, don’t tell her I said that, OK? That’s supposed to be a secret.”

Byleth gifted it to Lysithea the next day and gave all the credit to Cyril. It seemed silly to hold on to something for a ‘first kid’ she didn’t plan to have any time soon. It was for the best that the stuffed thing had gone to someone who would enjoy it (albeit secretly) rather than it gathering dust in a storehouse somewhere. 

Moth-eaten from lack of care, waiting for a child that will never be born.

Her eyes settled on Nader now as he approached her quarters.

There was a ruggedness about him that would appeal to some women, but there was no denying that the stuffed toy had been considerably ‘cuter’ compared to the genuine article, whose face, arms and body were littered with scrapes and scars.

All of a sudden, Fern appeared, carrying firewood and completely oblivious to her surroundings. As she hurried across Nader’s path, the girl collided with the muscular warrior. Time seemed to slow down as her knees gave way and logs thudded to the ground.

Byleth jogged towards them to help.

Nader held Fern steady and helped her stumble back to her feet. 

“Whoa, careful there, missy!” he said, unfazed by the collision or even when the young nun squeaked in terror. “Don’t worry, girlie. I don’t bite.”

“I… I’m sorry!” Fern spluttered, cupping her cheeks in her hands. “I-I wasn’t looking where I was going and, well, you—you took me by surprise and—!”

Byleth called out to her. 

“Fern, are you all right!”

Another anxious ‘eek!’ ripped from the girl’s throat. “Oh, L-Lady Byleth! I’m so sorry. Sorry, I-I…Forgive me, I…” She practically chewed through her reddening cheeks. “Oof, sorry, I’m a bit overwhelmed. Forgive me, Sir Nader.”

Nader bellowed out a laugh at the ‘Sir’ as he finished picking up the last of the fallen kindling. “Calm down, girlie. It’s not the end of the world. Why, you’re so tiny I barely noticed when you bounced off me!”

Byleth placed her hand on her maid’s shoulder. “These things happen, Fern. There’s no point being upset about it.” 

Her green eyes met Nader’s harsh hazel. A cold jolt passed through her, knowing soon they would be sitting down for their tea date, and when they did, Fern couldn’t be there. 

“Why don’t you take your break? Pansy should be on duty soon.”

The nun pursed her lips. 

“But I can help!” she insisted. “Let me clean up at the grey water point and return to assist with the tea.”

Byleth shook her head. “Didn’t Malva tell you? I need to speak privately with General Nader here.”

“She did tell me, but Lady Byleth, your firewood—”

“I’ll take it back myself. You go and get some lunch.”

“W-What about the tea?!”

“I’ll prepare the tea myself. I’ve done it for years, I’ll do it today.”

Fern puffed out her chest. “But I want to help you, my lady.”

“Then, practise your white magic,” the archbishop told her, putting on her warmest smile. Her ‘Rhea’ smile, as she called it. The type where she wanted to be polite, but also for the person it was directed at to go away. Quickly. “If you do that, it would help me tremendously.”

Fern’s shoulders fell, making her look even weaker and more defeated. “Alright. I… I’m sorry I let you down, my lady.”

“You haven’t,” Byleth promised her. “We all have bad days.” I’ve had a bad few weeks now, she added in her head, but didn’t say. 

“Thank you, my lady.” The nun apologetically nodded her head at Nader one last time. “I’m sorry again, sir. I’ll be more careful in the future.”

The pair watched as Fern wandered off in the direction of… well, Byleth wasn’t sure. Her youngest maid seemed listless, aimless and distracted. Just as Pansy said. The moment her eyes were off her mistress, she wasn’t herself anymore. I hope Malva’s telling the truth, she thought. I hope this isn’t serious.

Byleth released a heavy sigh, then turned.

Nader stood with his arms folded, a scowl etched into the space between his eyes and an expression caught somewhere between judging and curiosity. 

Another sigh.

Well, into the wyvern’s pit.

She gestured to her tent. “Shall we sit down?”

“Righto,” the Almyran said, rolling his shoulders as if he were about to engage in a bout. Perhaps, in his mind, they were. “Let’s get this over with.”

She tried to ignore the discomfort bubbling in her stomach, making her nauseous again. My illness better not be bubbling up again… She was hoping to hold down her new found love for poultry for the time being.

Byleth made a point of taking out her best porcelain, freshest bread and lightly salted butter. To the side, the kettle boiled, and Byleth had already pre-selected her tea leaves. Four-Spiced Blend, Ginger, and Almyran Pine Needles, of course, though she’d also made a point of retrieving some ground coffee beans.

Claude told me Nader prefers coffee, she recalled.

Nader dropped the firewood, as Byleth pulled out a chair. 

“Please take a seat,” she told him. “Help yourself to any bread or pastries. I’ll prepare our tea.”

“Hm, what a polite host!” Nader grunted, obeying her nonetheless.

Everything around him seemed dainty in comparison. He looked ‘boxed in’ sat at Byleth’s little table with his hands propped on his thighs. The muscles in his arms flexed and the scars scattered across his skin protruded, like he was being stretched. Claude told her that, to Nader, battle was not simply a way of life but an art form, and every wound was a lesson to be learned.

“Tea or coffee?”

Nader grunted. “You got coffee on my behalf, I take it?”

“Khalid said you liked it.”

“And you wanted to make a good impression? I’m flattered.” A pause. His haze narrowed. “Let’s have some tea. What’ve you got?”

“Many types,” Byleth replied simply. She lifted the Four-Spiced and Ginger caddies. “Khal said—”

“That I like my spices?” Nader finished, mockingly. “You really do want to butter me up, eh?”

“I have pine needles, too, if you’re too frightened to be adventurous.”

“Ha!” The Almyran slapped his knee, half-amused. “Go on. I’ll have those Four-Spices. Let’s see how much of a kick Fódlan spice really has.”

Byleth quietly prepared their brews. It was a process she enjoyed; watching the leaves defuse in the water, the clink of cups on the saucers and the clank of the teapot on the tray. Then, the tinker as she carried them over to the table and set the items gently down. It was peaceful. A quiet before whatever storms were about to pass between herself and her guest.

After a few cautious sips of tea, Nader spoke up. 

“Now what, my lady? Ready to plead your case to me?”

“I’m not much of a pleader,” she replied. “I only want to talk.” 

“Talk! Ha!” the spahbad shook his head at her. “You’re a confusing woman, Milady Byleth.”

“Confusing how?”

“Your character.” 

He watched her quietly serve the tea, unnerving Byleth slightly. Still, she kept her hand stable as the spiced tea was poured into the cream-and-gold-leafed tea set and didn’t quiver as she gently set it down in front of her guest. 

“I can’t get a good read on you,” Nader continued. “Cards on the table—the only reason you asked me here was to see if I’ll keep your dirty secret, am I right?”

“No,” Byleth responded, bluntly. “I invited you here in the hopes that we can better understand each other.”

Nader huffed, grabbing his cup. It looked very tiny and fragile in his hand, reminding Byleth of Dimitri. She hoped he didn’t have her husband’s clumsiness — one of the reasons she never used this tea set, the one Ferdinand had gifted her, was because she didn’t trust him not to accidentally break a cup. It was too precious for her to risk.

Thankfully, the Almyran had perfect table manners, placing the cup down with care despite him clearly being in the mood to smash.

He tapped his fingers irritably. “Right,” he said after another moment. “You want me to understand you?”

“Yes.”

“To help me overcome how incredibly puzzling I find you?””

Byleth gaped at him. “Sure, though I’m still unsure what you find so perplexing about me.”

“Would you like me to enlighten you, then?” Nader rested his hands on his thighs and sat forward, taking a cautious glance around as if to ensure they definitely were alone. “This thing with Khal, is it just a bit of fun for you?”

“Fun?!” she parroted, glowering.

“See, now that!” he pointed at her, swivelling his finger in a circle at her face. A gesture she had seen Claude do from time to time, though more when she first met him than he did now. “That is the first time the pitch in your voice has shifted since I got here. But your posture! The way you’re sitting there, so calm and serene and cold—” Cold. That word made Byleth clench her jaw tighter, “—how am I to tell whether you’re being sincere, or is this all a game face?”

It had been a while since Byleth had been confronted with questions like that, the sort that attacked her way of being. Though Claude – and many others – reassured her that she was a lot more expressive than she had once been, it was simply in Byleth’s nature to cloak her feelings with a ‘resting-demon-face’.

“It’s a bit of both,” she explained, cradling her tea between two hands. She saw her reflection in the murky orange liquid, as though she were preserved in amber. “I don’t want to let my guard down, even in front of you. I genuinely brought you here for a candid conversation.”

“Ah! So, we’re gonna be doing candour, hm?”

He grabbed his saucer so quickly, he almost spilled the contents in the cup. “Fine. Then I’ve got some direct questions for you and would appreciate one of your infamously curt responses.”

“Very well,” Byleth said with a nod. “Ask.”

Nader narrowed his eyes on her. “Why him?”

Byleth snickered lightly, unable to fight the urge to be sarcastic. “Hm. That’s actually a vague question, Nader.”

Still, she understood what Nader asked. To him, Byleth must represent rack and ruin for Khalid. She was a poisoned chalice. The embodiment of temptation. The betrayer, the adulteress. These titles plagued Byleth’s mind, too. Given her earliest memories were filled with a desire to be needed and trusted by those around her, they all stung. Now she was to be defined by these actions — and Claude would be tainted right along with her.

“Hmph, because it’s obvious what he sees in you,” Nader grumbled, surveying her with those piercing hazel eyes. “You have what our people call razaxtarn, a ‘secret spark’. Clever and talented, a gorgeous yet untouchable warrior. I figured you’d be a demon in other aspects of life, not only the battlefield alone. You gave Khal a morsel, and now nothing else can satiate him. Only now, he can’t see the desert beyond a single grain of sand.” 

He rested his palms against his chest, thoughtfully. 

“I warned him what might happen once all this gets out. I mean, your husband – Dear One! – That’s a guy I’m not keen to get on the wrong side of.”

“I understand your concerns,” Byleth cut in quickly, knowing that Dimitri’s name would come up sooner rather than later. “But… Trust me when I say that I will handle him carefully. Even if I have to lie to him about why I wish to end our marriage to protect Khalid, I will.” 

That seemed to take Nader by surprise, even though he initially said nothing. 

“What?” she pressed.

“I don’t understand you,” he said, at last. “After all, you still haven’t answered my earlier questions of — why? Why Khal? What are you getting out of this?”

“Huh—?”

“Don’t be obtuse.” He leaned forward again, his voice a gravelly whisper. “What about my shah turns the head of the so-called avatar of a goddess? It can’t be money or power — he’s richer than your man, sure, but you’re already the wife of a king and the head of the faith here. That grants you far more influence than anything Khal can give you in Almyra. And, with respect to my king, I can’t believe it’s because of the sex. Frankly, I’m amazed the kiddo worked out where it goes.”

Byleth snorted, unable to stop herself. 

To be fair, Nader wouldn’t be aware of Claude’s talents in that area. Sex had been a process of discovery for both of them. Her knowledge had been limited to baby-making, while Claude’s came from reading erotica to satiate his curiosity. So, they chose to seize the day when they took what was supposed to be their first and only time back on that fateful night in Almyra. They had been keen to paint a memory, and played out every idea that crossed their minds as a means to pleasure one another in unabashed, wild abandon.

Nader arched an eyebrow at her, making her cheeks flush redder still.

“Well, well!” hummed the general, surprised, taking in Byleth’s abrupt bashfulness. “Well. Hm. Then, is that it? You enjoy his bedroom antics?”

Not wanting to answer that question directly, she shifted the conversation. “I’m starting to think my answers won’t satisfy you, Nader.” 

“How so?”

“Because…” She put her cup down harshly. “You’re desperate for there to be a scheme behind this, aren’t you?” He didn’t deny it; she could see it in his eyes, the despair they contained, and hear it in his voice as it grew more exasperated. “You’re hoping that either Khal or I started sleeping together because there was a power ploy or something, right?”

He visibly cringed, completely tipping his hand to her.

Byleth was almost disappointed to have read Nader so easily.

“Why Khal, you ask…” Her voice trailed off as she finally considered the question in full. After all, coming to terms with her feelings for Claude was a journey in itself, let alone learning how to articulate them. 

There was his mind: his impish charm; how fervent he was, even in his darkest moments; his shrewdness when confronting ally or enemy; and his quiet bravery, never expecting his people to die for him — yet inspiring such faith in them that so many would gladly follow him, anyway. It made her smile to think of him, sitting still as he ruminated. Everything about him fascinated her and drew her in. Sometimes, she liked to run her hands through his hair, caress his forehead and kiss his temples, to show his brain appreciation. It was a maze Byleth knew she would never grow tired of navigating.

Then there was the sound of his voice. It was soft, low, and passionate. Whether he was shouting commands to his troops or whispering sweet nothings in her ear, there was a ticklish edge to his intonation that made her shiver with contentment. It delighted her to kiss those lips and take that tongue into her mouth or—other places, too. When he told her he loved her, that he never wanted to let her go — it stirred her blood and filled her with joy. She could lose herself in that voice, and never want to be found again.

And yes, Claude was handsome. Unbearably so. Immeasurably, beautifully so. His smile, his eyes, his shape — all of it ignited her. He drove her senses wild with the tiniest touch. To be held by him was to be safe, fulfilled and whole. She craved him, longed for it to be him and only him naked with her, using every part of himself to please her. 

“I love him,” she said simply, wishing there was a better way to express all the thoughts in her mind to Nader. “To me, he’s… He’s everything.”

“Fine,” Nader snorted, incredulously. “Then if Khal strikes your chords so well, why stay with the cyclops?”

Byleth crashed her cup down on the saucer. “Don’t call Dimitri that.”

“Ah, so you do care.”

“Of course I do.”

“Most wives don’t sleep with other men behind their husband’s back if they ‘care’.”

“Don’t presume my love for Khal equates to disdain for Dimitri.”

He raised his hands in defeat. “Very well. I will endeavour to be more respectful of the man my king is cuckolding here, there and all over this camp in the future, then.”

Byleth closed her eyes, suppressing the desire to roll them. It was not so much at Nader’s crassness, but her own unashamed disgrace. She could understand why he was speaking this way, of her relationship with Claude cynically. For her, however, it was frustrating.

“Hmph. Then, let me change the question,” Nader said, folding his arms. “Why marry your husband if you never loved him? Everyone was under the impression yours was some sort of fortuitous love match, but, if I’m to believe you, then that was wyvern shit, wasn’t it?”

A cold rush ran through Byleth’s body. Now, that… That was the question she was frightened of answering. It was something Dimitri would ask, once she finally admitted the truth to him, that she wished to end their marriage. 

“I thought, at the time, that I loved him more than anyone.”

Because, at the time, she had. 

Byleth didn’t help Dimitri with the intention of marrying him or being his queen — all she wanted was to see him recover from his traumas. Watching Dimitri thrive and let go of his need for revenge to embrace life, rather than glorify the dead, made her proud. Accomplished. She loved him- truly, she did love Dimitri. But it was a love that she recognised, one that she had felt for the many, many people around her. She loved her father, Rhea, Seteth and Flayn, and her students. Loved them with affection and warmth, and it was strongest for Dimitri. That was why she married him. He needed her, trusted her, and she loved to be needed so dearly.

But she had never been in love with him.

“I was wrong,” she concluded. “By falling in love with Claude, I realised how much.”

Nader’s speech was cold and eyes full of mistrust. “And, how do I know—damn it all, how do you know—that you love Khalid now?! That you aren’t fucking him around?” He stopped, clenching his teeth. “What happens if you wake up one day, after Khal has all but ruined himself for you, and realise this, too, isn’t real love?”

That accusation hit hard. Hurt. Byleth closed her eyes, trying to fight the sting of sadness and frustration prickling her tear ducts. “That won’t happen.”

“How can you be so sure?!”

“Because Khal is different.”

“Different?!”

“Yes!” Byleth snapped–

Claude made her feel unlike any other love she had experienced. With him, she felt everything all at once. She longed for him — body, mind, heart, soul, all of him. 

Never had anyone inspired such unquenchable passion or absolute affection in me. 

Never, ever did I think a sensation this immense belonged in my heart. 

An emotion so enormous, it could break and burn me, then rebuild and reforge me all in one…

“Why Khalid? Why Dimitri?” Nader asked, when all Byleth really wondered was, “Why you?!”

What did you do to deserve the love of any man?!

Byleth drew in a long breath. Furious passion rushed her entire body. Her throat was sore, parched. She was ringing like a bell. There was a high pitch whining in her ears and her skin was flushed red, burning hot. Boiling, overcome… 

Her chest felt tight, as though there wasn’t enough air.

Another, quivering breath and she raised her gaze again.

Finally, she met Nader’s eyes — and he appeared awestruck. For the briefest moment, Byleth was confused. Why had he changed from disbelief to astonished within seconds? That was when she realised, and her heart, though unbeating, felt even stiller.

“Did I…” she swallowed, her mouth dry. “Did I say all of that out loud?”

Nader nodded, very slowly. “You did.”

Byleth swigged down the last of her tea, though it did nothing to quench her thirst.

“‘An emotion so enormous, it could break and burn me, then rebuild and reforge me all in one,’ huh?” the older man repeated, rolling his arms again to release the tension built up there. “Damn it all!” He rubbed his eyes and cheeks, then pinched the bridge of his nose aggressively. “There really wasn’t a plan. No idea. No sense—fuck! Definitely no sense. You two just…” He sighed, rubbing the sweat from his lips. “You fell in love with the wrong person.” 

“Heh.” Byleth looked down, mind racing from memories of everything that brought her to this point. The Treaty. Almyra. Friendship. Budding desire. Unbridled passion. All-consuming love. “Not the wrong person,” she concluded. “The wrong circumstances.”

Nader exhaled loudly, his breath defeated. “You can say that again. It’s a pity you two lacked the self-control to live with it.”

“We tried,” she sighed, remembering how much ‘trying’ hurt. For a while, Byleth and Claude ‘lived with it.’ Even after her ridiculous drunken confession in the gardens at Ansah, they had kept their tongues still and passions in check, pretending that nothing had happened. But the more they spent time together, spoke and fought to hide the feelings they already knew were there? “In the end, it became unbearable.”

“You could’ve survived without jumping onto Khal’s cock, my lady.”

Maybe he was right. No, he was right. Byleth was simply beyond shame now. It was too late. They had gone too far… and now she refused to return to a life of lies, devoid of her soul’s mate, to act the part of Dimitri’s queen all while inside screaming and crying for Claude.

“I don’t see how pointing that out changes things,” Byleth said, a little defensively. “You asked me why, and I told you. I’m sorry that it wasn’t satisfactory.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Nader admitted, helping himself to more tea now. “But that’s my fault. I wasn’t looking for an answer, more a solution. One that was never here to find.” 

Though her guest was still flushed and frustrated, he seemed a little more peaceful, too. 

“Welp, you achieved your mission, Lady Byleth.”

She blinked, confused.

“I think I understand you a bit better now,” Nader clarified, smiling for the first time since he had sat down for this conversation. “And, hopefully, you understand me, too?”

Byleth nodded. “Yes. I’m glad — you mean so much to Claude. I really don’t want us to be at odds, even if we can’t agree with each other.”

He grunted in agreement. “That husband of yours still terrifies me, though.”

Byleth suspected there was nothing she could say to moderate those worries. 

“You say you’re gonna try to protect Khal from his ire, but I’m starting to worry for you. He’s gonna be unhappy when you tell him you no longer want him, isn’t he?”

She sighed. “When I married Dimitri, everyone was… very happy for him. They told me how much he deserved to find happiness and that I was the only one who gave him that. I thought it was enough to make him happy, but as days passed by, something was always missing. I didn’t think it mattered, but eventually it became harder to ignore.” She paused, her hand over her heart. “I think that’s why falling in love with Claude overwhelmed me so much.”

Nader gave her a thoughtful look. 

“King or peasant, you don’t owe your time, body or life to make someone else happy, Lady Byleth.” He took a hearty drink of tea and gave a satisfied gasp. “This stuff is nice. Good pick. You might make a tea-drinker out of me yet.”

“You’re welcome,” said Byleth with a thankful bow of the head. The tension was finally starting to ebb away from the room and the air felt that bit clearer. 

Reclining into his chair, Nader made a new confession. “You know, I always secretly hoped Khal might opt for one of my girls. They’d probably be able to make him happy enough, even if he didn’t love them. They definitely wouldn’t give him as much trouble as you.”

Byleth was certain her immovable heart quaked. “I know.”

“But we can’t always have what we want, can we? No one, and I mean no one, has ever captured Khalid’s soul like you. Honestly, I want to be happy for him, but you come with an awful lot of luggage, ashibanu-ahliah.”

Archbishop-Queen. Those titles meant so much to Fódlan, but for the Almyrans, they were little more than a cute nickname.

“I know I do,” she said, not knowing what else to say. “I don’t blame you for hating me.”

“Pah, hate is such a strong word. I don’t even blame you. Khal isn’t a fool. He’s completely capable of deciding where he polishes his dick on his own, and I can now see that you’re not the type of woman to pursue a man for your own entertainment. I don’t like it, but you’re his Mashyana’jara.”

“The vessel of all evil?”

“Hm. Khal’s told you that one then, eh? Actually, evil’s not what was in the jar. It was knowledge. All the miseries of the world require knowledge to understand, after all. Animals are ignorant of such things, but that self-awareness is what makes us sentient. The Wise One created life so that It could experience creation. Mashyana, the Every-Mother, was born naïve and ignorant. Yet as time went on and she grew older, she desired to know all there was to know, and all the knowledge concealed within that jar.” 

He grabbed a piece of bread, then produced a jar from his pocket. Byleth scowled. He held it up. “Sorry. I forgot — a peace offering, one that I’m happy to share.”

Honey, Byleth noted. Almyran duasal, to be exact. Arguably one of the finest (and most expensive) honeys in the world, it could only be produced by bees that pollinated the flowers from the sacred Ashtara’amara tree. And yes, it was undoubtedly the most delicious honey she had ever tasted up until that point.

Still, he didn’t open it, merely held it up as though he were, indeed, a god and this was the offending container of the story.

“There was a voice that came from the jar that beckoned and begged her to let them out. Eventually, she couldn’t stand it any longer. But when she removed that lid it overwhelmed her. She knew everything, overcome by the wisdom possessed only by Xodata. She tried to put the lid on — but it was too late; once one has the knowledge, one cannot return to ignorance. In that moment, Mashyana might’ve succumbed to despair, but for Hope. That was the last thing to remain in the jar, to stay with Mashyana. So, when the time came for her to birth the first yazatanre, they carried Hope always.” 

A pregnant pause. 

“You, my Lady Byleth, are the Vessel of Knowledge, who cried out desperately to be opened, while Khal’s the insatiable prick who couldn’t keep his hands off the damned lid. And here I am, trying to find the hope in all this.”

Byleth threw her head back to stare up at the canopy, wondering if she could add a silver lining to this black cloud for Nader. 

With a grunt, he popped the lid off the jar he was holding. 

She looked up.

Nader waved the jar again. “Like I said, a peace offering. You won’t find it this side of the border, and I remember you wolfing it down last time.”

He started to spread the honey on his bread. 

Honey. 

Sweet. It assaulted Byleth’s nostrils instantly, causing bile to rush up into her throat.

Damn it!

Her chair crashed to the ground as she vaulted out of it, covering her mouth to try and keep down the mucus.

Nader was bewildered by her panic. “Lady Byleth?!” 

“Sorry,” she managed to say, despite her mouth filled with salty, sickly saliva. “I—Excuse me!”

Stumbling behind her modesty partition, Byleth found her wash bowl.

Please let me keep my breakfast down! she pleaded with her body as she braced against her nightstand. Please, please, please… I can’t keep being sick. I can’t. I can’t.

Her begging resonated with her stomach, and she felt the sickness pass. 

Relief began to wash over her when she heard her partition behind her being moved aside.

“You alright there, girlie?” Nader asked, stepping into her ‘chambers.’ “Do you need me to fetch one of those nuns of yours?”

“No,” Byleth gulped, slowly sitting up straight. “No, it’s fine. It’s just…” She took a deep breath, swallowing thick. “I’m ‘off’ sweets at the moment.”

Nader cocked an eyebrow. “Off sweets?”

“The honey,” she clarified. “The smell of it… I don’t know what it is or why it’s happening. Anything sweet makes me feel,” another breath, “so sick.”

“Really?” The middle-aged warrior folded his arms, shaking his head in confusion. “Well, sorry. If I’d have known, I’d have picked a different peace offering. You damn near ate the entire palace supply in Almyra.”

Byleth chuckled weakly. “I’m sorry. Maybe when I’m feeling better, though. That honey was delicious when I had the craving for it.”

Nader snorted back a laugh. Then he stopped still, as though struck by a thought. He stared at her pensively, penetratively. “How long has this been going on?”

“I suppose…?” 

Byleth wasn’t actually sure. It had come on slowly, along with all the other changes. As she made her answer as such, a chill gripped her. That old friendly sensation of fight or flight started to take hold. Dizziness, anticipation, and fear. 

“Why?” was all she managed to say.

“It’s a simple enough question.”

“I—A few weeks, maybe? A month, perhaps.”

“And I’ll bet water tastes like you’re sucking a coin, doesn’t it?”

Byleth blinked, then nodded slowly.

Nader’s face dropped, cheeks grew pale. He mumbled something that Byleth recognised as a curse, then a few more phrases, but her comprehension of High Almyran was too low to translate them on the spot.

Then, he switched back to their common tongue.

“Sandrame take you, Khal! Damn it all!”

“Nader…?” Byleth’s voice croaked.

With a deep sigh, the spahbad looked utterly defeated. “Lady Byleth, you have painted yourself red.”

“Excuse me?”

“Donstari’eh ehkra’luwn ruda,” he said, his tongue rolling over each ‘r,’ making it sound like an incantation. “You’ve painted yourself red. An Almyran turn of phrase, and one that does not translate well. Denial. You are in denial, dear woman.”

Sothis’s words from her dreams rang in her ears: “You have been caught in this never-ending cycle of denial for too long.”

“What are you saying?” Byleth asked.

“Safiya,” Nader said curtly. “Sandraman’rahmat. She gave me six daughters. You met three of ‘em when you were in Almyra, remember?”

“I remember.”

Shadi, most of all. She was older than Byleth by nine years, and a brash and daunting battle maiden who wielded axes and lances atop horseback. It was a shame she couldn’t come to Fódlan to aid in this conflict- but Byleth understood that some capable warriors had to remain in Ansah to help the Daevashahbanu hold the fort in her son’s stead. Byleth had met his two youngest daughters, Fadia and Bahisa, as well, as they were still children and primarily cared for by Shadi. His other daughters had long since left home, spread out over the realm and married with their own families.

Tension still gripped the Archbishop-Queen. 

Where’s he going with this…?

“Well, the other three – Naira, Ghalia and Wahida – have a gaggle of kids between them with their husbands, some I haven’t even met. But they often write, tell me all about their lives and any other kiddos on the horizon. Needless to say, I’ve been around a lot of women. I know plenty about women, or at least enough to recognise… certain signs you have, Your Grace.”

Byleth could feel her cheeks burn, pulse ache and palms sweat. “What are you trying to say, Nader?”

He drummed his fingers against the table nervously. 

“Lady Byleth,” Nader stopped, hesitated, and then sighed long, deep and in complete resignation. “I believe you’re pregnant.”

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